Easy After Midnight
by triptohere
Summary: Rachel decides to relieve some tension. This does not quite go to plan, and continues to be unexpected for some time after.  Set just after Michael, and further chapters incorporate events up to and beyond On My Way.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note - primarily an experiment in accurate character voice, smut, and not taking myself too seriously. Feedback welcome! **

The first time it happens, it is entirely accidental.

Having sexual urges is completely normal for a young woman of her age, and meeting these needs with self gratification is a healthy, and perfectly reasonable response.

Besides the last few days have left her a little... on edge, what with one thing and another. Having one's future career in jeopardy, as well as fielding an entirely unsolicited marriage proposal would be enough to put a strain on anyone, and Rachel Berry knows she is not anyone. Her emotional experiences are way off the scale compared to everyone else.

On another day, she might sing, but that'll just wind up with her thinking about how NYADA have seemingly decided that she isn't good enough, and the aim is to take her mind off such ridiculous notions.

Plus, it is almost two in the morning. She does have some sense of time and place.

Right then. Door is locked. Room is warm, but not too warm. Sleep shorts are loose enough for access.

Right.

Masturbation. Go.

She's always been a bit perplexed about how she is supposed to get going, as it were. Because, right now, lying in bed panicking about her future and whether or not Finn is _the one_, or just the one _right now_, doesn't leave her feeling very sexy.

Huffing slightly at her body's failure to lubricate instantaneously, Rachel casts around for suitable erotic material.

Finn. Okay, Finn. What does she like about Finn? He's, well, he's tall, and sweet, generally, and wants her to be his wife. Umm, his kissing technique could do with a touch of refining, but the enthusiasm is admirable. He can pick her up really easily, she likes that. Good tone to his singing voice. Burgeoning leadership skills. They've had sex, which was... well, mainly nerve-wracking and uncomfortable, so maybe not the best fantasy fodder, but he was really caring afterward, and told her she was beautiful, which was an appropriate thing to do at that moment, and left Rachel feeling grateful that she had chosen to not give him the 'Post Sex Sweet Nothings' prompt sheet she had designed, but had instead trusted in his ability to ad-lib.

Brief exploration shows Rachel that this mental avenue does not appear to be setting her body aflame with desire. Feeling slightly guilty, she settles on another option.

Jesse. Fantastic hair, of course, very good for running her fingers through when she had been kissing him. Their voices sounded excellent together, and Rachel appreciated the competition rather than resenting it. Their rendition of Rolling in the Deep in the auditorium that day had been exhilarating and emotionally charged, and Jesse had adapted to the role well, throwing her lust filled, infuriated looks, while she had responded with mistrust and anger, but it had left her breathless nevertheless. At one point Rachel had wondered whether Jesse was going to pin her up against the piano and kiss her senseless, which is in her top five of romantic fantasies, and thus far more appropriate for tonight's intended activities.

Fingers dip slightly lower to check, and... _there! _Not much, but a start. Okay, more Jesse.

Umm, well, his leading man skills are not in question, and it had been exceptionally gratifying, once the mortification had faded, when Jesse and Finn had fought over her at Prom. Though, that thought leads her back to preparing for the Prom, and that makes her think of kissing Jesse in her room, and how he would always try and subtly more them so they were kissing in front of her full length mirror, and how every now and then she would catch him watching the reflection. And then, of course, there was the whole situation with the eggs, which she has forgiven him for, of course, she completely understands the notion of getting carried away in the run up to a completion, but the humiliation is still sharp, when she thinks about it. Which she isn't supposed to be because she is _trying_ to get herself off and this isn't helping.

Like trying to hang on to a memory of a dream, whatever it was that she had been feeling flickers and dies, until she is left fumbling at nothingness beneath her shorts.

Well. This is all deeply unsatisfactory.

Rachel considers calling the entire idea off, but that would imply failure, and she's feeling a bit too much like one of those generally to concede defeat. No, through grit, determination, tenacity and dexterous fingers, she will bring herself to orgasm if it takes all night.

Firmly reminding herself that it isn't cheating if it happens in her head, she imagines kissing Puck.

She'd liked kissing Puck. Granted, his lips were chapped, and on both the intellectual and talent front he couldn't hold a candle up to her, but based solely on kissing ability he was her best experience. He'd kissed her like he'd expected to get further, rather than behaving as if he was just expecting to be stopped with each passing second. She'd felt desirable.

He'd been surprisingly good at dealing with breasts as well, and with this thought Rachel changes tack, bringing a hand up to cup herself through her vest top. His hands had been purposeful, direct, and confident. Finn always seemed vaguely astonished he got to touch her there, even after all this time.

Shifting slightly, Rachel tries to rein herself back from making direct comparisons, because that didn't seem fair, but at least things were making gradual progress. Puckerman. How annoying.

He'd wanted her, in those brief moments they were together. She'd felt sexy. Equally, when Rachel considers Puck's other romantic dalliances, she was keeping some very good company, aesthetically speaking. Granted, Lauren must been in possession of different forms of attractive qualities, but Santana was gorgeous. And Quinn...

Rachel has seen Puck kissing Santana, back in the days when celibacy club and appearing heterosexual had been important to Santana. But she'd never seen Puck kissing Quinn.

They'd be an attractive couple. Aesthetically, of course. Rachel had no doubts that romantically they'd be horrible, and Quinn would probably have her sights set far higher these days, what with Yale, and all that, but still. They'd be gorgeous together.

Would Puck kiss Quinn like he had kissed her? Would he have touched her in the same way he had touched Rachel? And how would Quinn have kissed back? Rachel imagines Quinn would be insistent and demanding and passionate and really a rather excellent kisser, and plus _imagine_ the feeling of knowing that Quinn Fabray approves of her, enough to kiss her, and maybe push her up against a wall and bite on her bottom lip.

Oh... goodness.

Rachel flings her hands as far away from her body as possible, and lies very still.

Right. Okay. That was... an unexpected response. She's just tired, she supposes, and Quinn has been on her mind alot lately, what with Quinn telling her not to sleep with Finn and telling her not to marry Finn. So, yes. Bit odd, but nothing to be unduely concerned about. Just a bit of a blurring of the imaginative narrative.

Unsettled, Rachel gets up, and pads over to the door. Still closed. She checks her phone. Two thirty.

Dammit, now she is all worked up and restless. When Rachel gets back into bed the sheets move against her in a peculiar way, and this is all very unnerving, whatever her body is deciding to do.

Things had been going well with Puck, she decides. Back to Puck. (She ignores that Puck now feels like the safe option.)

Okay, so. Mustering every ounce of focus, Rachel applies herself to the task of finding Puck attractive. He was musical – good. He was loyal to Glee club – good. He was talented at playing guitar – good. His hands had applied a suitable amount of pressure at the correct moments – good. He must have kissed Quinn on her neck and gripped at her hips, and Quinn must have rocked into him and maybe moaned and arched her back – good. What – no! Bad. Very... focus, Berry! Puck. With his eyes, and hands, and breathing in her ear, and smooth skin that feels really good when Rachel touches it, and Quinn strokes a hand along her sternum, which is just...

What the hell is happening?

Because, unless she is very much mistaken, her inner voice keeps switching to some Sapphic fantasy involving Quinn. Which was certainly not what Rachel had intended when she started this venture.

Rachel makes to remove her hand from her shorts again, but just ends up trailing it over her lower stomach, and then has to squash down a moan as goosebumps erupt on her skin.

After taking a few deep breaths, Rachel opens her eyes to stare at the ceiling and decides that this is entirely, unequivocally, Finn's fault. If Finn hadn't asked her to marry him, then Rachel wouldn't have gone to speak to Quinn, and Quinn wouldn't have told her not to dream of throwing her future away like that, and Rachel wouldn't have this alternative reality playing out in her head in which Quinn had sang to _her_ in Glee club after her Yale acceptance, and then waited until everyone had left before pressing Rachel up against the piano and kissing her senseless. And Rachel would moan in response and it would only encourage Quinn to shift position, so that she was pressed right _there_, and Rachel would be one eighth scandalized but primarily just aroused at how forward and desperate the entire thing was, and _oh god_, what if Quinn had felt like this for a long time, and had told her not to have sex with Finn because Quinn had wanted her, and what if Quinn thought about her all the time, and when Rachel had hugged her in the bathroom if she had held on for a fraction of a second longer Quinn's self restraint would have snapped and they'd have been fucking, five minutes later.

Oh _christ_, she is so wet.

It isn't cheating if it is in her head.

But... it is probably a bit wrong to feel this good this fast whilst thinking of somebody other than her potential fiancé.

Particularly whilst thinking about the woman her potential fiancé used to date, and the friend that Rachel appears to go to for honest, well thought through advice these days.

Rachel has to fight down a bubble of laughter this time, when she imagines the conversation she could potentially have with Quinn after the discovery of this new dilemma.

_Quinn, I appear to get spectacularly aroused when I think of you kissing me, any thoughts on this quandary?_

Quinn would be mortified.

Or...

Quinn might look at her as if to say, duh, have you seen me? Of course you get aroused. And then Rachel would probably laughed, delighted at having discovered Quinn's ability to joke. And Quinn might smirk at her a bit, and two days later she'd get a text from Quinn inviting her to Breadstix.

Or...

Rachel bites her lip, because she's warm and turned on and really _alive_ with this new concept of Quinn wanting her, and slips her hand into her shorts again, tracing fingers over moisture.

Or... Rachel might have held on a fraction too long in the bathroom, and Quinn's grip on her back might have just tightened, and they'd have just held there, until Rachel felt Quinn's head tilt and her heart almost stopped when she realised Quinn was inhaling her shampoo.

And Quinn's arms would have been strong, and showed no sign of letting up, so, despite the constant risk of getting caught, Rachel would have inched her face closer and closer to Quinn's, until they were almost tucked up in each other, sharing the same space.

Quinn would have kissed her, a gentle press of lips.

It would have been astonishing.

God... and it would have kept going. Not for very long in the bathroom, because McKinley toilets were fairly disgusting and Rachel is always vaguely paranoid about hidden CCTV cameras, but instead Quinn would have grabbed her arm and tugged her away from the sink, and they'd have been running down the hallway, and lots of people would have seen them but Quinn would have ignored them all and when they get to Quinn's car Rachel would have been unbalanced and dizzy from the sprint and Quinn would have kissed her until she thought she was going to pass out.

And then, maybe the backseat...no, no, not much room for manoeuvre in the backseat of a car. Instead, after a lightening quick drive home in which Rachel considers calling Finn and announcing the entire thing is off because Quinn Fabray likes inhaling her shampoo, they're in Rachel's bedroom.

Rachel briefly toys with imagining a piano into her room so that Quinn can press her up against it and kisses her senseless, but this is going too quickly now and her fingers are covered in moisture and her hips appear to have taken on a life of their own, so she flicks forward a couple of scenes.

Oh god, Quinn is on top of her. And, ugh, they're naked except for panties, and Quinn's bracing both her arms on either side of Rachel's shoulders, and just rolling her hips against Rachel's thigh. And then, to hell with logistics, Quinn is managing to defy gravity and continue that motion whilst dipping her head down and taking one of Rachel's nipples into her mouth, as one hand cups the other breast and another presses against the wet cotton, before agile fingers shift it to one side.

Quinn probably swears softly at that point, and looks into her eyes. Rachel finds herself whimpering at the idea, and presses two fingers lower.

And god, _god_, Quinn's fingers would probably feel a great deal like Rachel's do right now, and so when Rachel pushes two fingers inside, she thinks of Quinn sliding into her, before managing to roll one nipple between her tongue and lips whilst _simultaneously_ murmuring into Rachel's ear how sexy she is, and how Quinn has thought about doing this forever.

Fuck. Fuckkkkk. Quinn would start moving again, and she'd be everywhere, kissing every part of Rachel whilst stroking and caressing and god knows how many extra arms Rachel is equipping Quinn with at this stage, but somehow Quinn's fingers are in her hair, and ghosting over her breasts, and holding her hand and tugging Rachel's hips up to meet with the thrusts of her thigh and impossibly managing to thumb over Rachel clit, _oh god_ and now it is her tongue and fuckfuckgodyes.

Yes.

Oh, god, yes.

...

(Rachel kind of knows that she's in a whole heap of trouble when she imagines Quinn holding her afterward, telling her how beautiful she is, and how having Rachel like this will always be the best moment of her life, until the next time.)

After a while, Rachel smoothes a hand over her thigh, blushing slightly at the accumulated residue she leaves behind.

That was... unexpected. And. Well.

Nonsense. The entire thing is utterly ludicrous. As if, as if any of that could ever, as if she would actually _want_ any of that.

She must be hormonal. And experiencing unusual sexual urges were totally par for the course. Perfectly healthy. Perfectly normal.

She'll marry Finn. That'll be as good a distraction as any.

She doesn't sleep.

The second time it happens, it isn't an accident.


	2. Chapter 2

**Continuing character voice exploration, I suppose. Labelled as chapter two because it is set in the same universe, but perspective has shifted and things have moved forward. Thank you for the comments on chapter 1! This deals with the car crash aftermath, but because I was under the impression that Glee was supposed to be light-hearted, the commentary is being provided by Brittany.**

* * *

><p>Brittany thinks that karma gets it all wrong sometimes. If someone had asked her, then she could have explained that car crashes should be reserved for the really nasty people, like the people who had stolen all the money and spent it on yachts, so that the economy was like a floppy bouncy castle, no fun anymore. Or the Death Eaters who had enjoyed being evil, not the ones who had just done it because they were scared of Voldemort and his freaky nostrils. Or that angry man who wanted to kill all the nice Avatarians. Those sorts of people. Anyway, car crashes were definitely not supposed to be for the people who were only nasty to other people because they didn't like themselves very much.<p>

Besides- and Brittany leans her head away from Santana's shoulder now, because Santana has gone all tense and hard like she usually does when she is scared, and instead rests her head on the car window next to her, with her eyes closed so that the traffic flicking past in the opposite lane doesn't give her travel sickness- besides, even if Quinn had deserved karmic retribution, it should have been a couple of years ago, because that was when Quinn used to go around snarling at everyone, like a cat that had accidentally fallen into a pond and had only just dragged itself out.

And even then, a car crash is extreme. Brittany can tell from the way Rachel's dad is driving, and the way the back of his head looks really worried, that Quinn's accident must have been serious. Maybe Quinn had to be cut out. Maybe... Brittany starts to feel funny, so stops thinking about that and instead considers the justice and morality of labelling random events as some form of deserved punishment.

A serious car crash feels way too heavy for the wrong things Quinn used to do. A more appropriate punishment would have been... maybe she could have fallen off the Cheerio pyramid, and sprained her ankle. Or, um, maybe like when Brittany's locker was full of dirt, except Quinn's could have been full of macaroni cheese, because Quinn doesn't like macaroni cheese. Or Quinn could have been trapped in a lift with Rachel, just after Rachel had drank three coffees and inhaled a hot air balloon full of helium. Or Coach Sylvester could have made the Cheerio's uniform argyle, because from how Quinn reacts whenever she sees argyle, Brittany has deducted that argyle is Quinn's least favourite thing, so she must be allergic to the pattern.

Anyway. Not a car crash. Brittany pouts slightly, and opens her eyes to glare out of the window, at the cars and the wider universe. How dare it? Her grandma used to tell her that everything happened for a reason, before she went a bit funny on those pills and now thinks her coat stand is her best friend Ethel, (which Brittany knows is a bit silly, how do you hug a coat stand?), but anyway, this feels like the universe is breaking that rule as laid down by her grandma, which is just rude, and disrespectful of the elderly.

Brittany leans forward to ask Rachel whether she thinks macaroni cheese in Quinn's locker would have been more suitable, but then remembers that Rachel is, um, really gross and slobbery right now, and it isn't polite to speak to people when they are leaking from the face like that. Instead Brittany goes into Santana's bag and digs around until she finds the eye liner, and writes a reminder on her hand, because waiting around in hospitals can get _really _long, and Brittany doesn't want to run out of things to talk about, if Rachel needs distracting.

Resettling, Brittany curls her hand over towards Santana, and runs her fingers up and down the smooth skin of Santana's forearm, trying to help her de-statue in time for when they get there and she has to be a normal person in front of everyone.

Not fair, any of this. Rachel's wedding, the happiest mistake of her life, or something, has now got this stuck in the middle of it. And Quinn was probably driving like a crazy person, but to go do a good thing, and be where Rachel wanted her to be, and therefore the universe should have allowed her to be safe.

The last time Brittany had been this angry at the universe, it was when Quinn had gotten pregnant from one not very fun sexy time with Puck. Like, now Miss Holiday has explained things to her, Brittany recognises that she has participated in lots of sexing, and even though Santana cannot get her pregnant (although their baby would be awesome, and super good at being better than everybody else baby) she's done the sex with boys definitely more than once, and never caught a baby. And even though Quinn is maybe a super efficient baby making machine, on her first time seems unnecessarily diligent of the miniature stork inside her, or whatever.

Although, Quinn did tell Brittany that she doesn't regret Beth, that day when Brittany offered to go back in time and kick Puck in the balls, so he wasn't feeling very sexy that night. Quinn had said that things were better after Beth than before, it had just taken her a bit of time to spot it. She said she had more friends now, and was gentler to people, and her priorities were better. So maybe the universe had known what it was doing, that time. Good stuff had come out of it.

They're here. Finn's mom is waving at them, and Brittany can just about see Finn and Puck disappearing into the hospital entrance. Not cool, that they get to find out news first. Rachel is already out of the car, looking really pretty in her dress apart from her face, and she's off before Brittany can really say anything, and then Santana gives Brittany one of those looks that has lots of meanings, but because Brittany's a bit dizzy from all the drama she can't translate it beyond the primary meaning of _I need to go sort out Rachel before she does something really big that nobody needs to deal with right now._Because Santana knows, not because Brittany told her, but just because she is really smart like that.

Finn's mom dumps a handful of change in Brittany's hand, and then it is just Brittany, left in sole charge of making sure the Berry mobile doesn't get clamped for not having a ticket.

The universe better have a hell of a lot of good things planned out if it thinks it can make this situation fair, Brittany decides.

* * *

><p>There's like, zero news. Hospitals are a black hole of news, it all gets sucked in there and away, to the other side of the universe, or possibly into a news readers head (seriously, how do they know all that stuff?)<p>

Quinn is being operated on. Which is going to make her really angry because Quinn doesn't like it when people know stuff about her that is private, and now all of these doctors are going to know how Quinn fits together and what shape her bones are.

Still, operated is good. Brittany had leaned into Santana when they had been told that and escorted into a waiting room, and pointed out that they only operated on alive people and therefore it meant that Quinn was alive, at this stage. Santana had gone all wobbly for a moment, and had hugged Brittany really tight, so she had definitely been grateful to hear the news. Brittany had thought about telling Rachel too, but Rachel's got a dad on either side, and they look like intelligent people so they've probably already filled Rachel in.

This is like, really serious. And time seems to have slowed down, like it does when big stuff is happening, so everyone has a chance to think about how serious the big stuff is. The people who walk past keep looking at Rachel funny, like she _chose_ to come to hospital in a wedding dress, or something stupid.

Brittany's still got the Berry mobile's keys. And she's pretty good at guessing stuff about people. So she excuses herself, and takes a walk.

Brittany's grown out of high-fiving herself, because she doesn't want to look too smug, but she totally does anyway, because she guessed correctly.

In the trunk of the Berry mobile there's a hold all, which contains, on investigation, a change of clothes for a really short person with questionable style.

A bag in case Rachel had run away from the wedding.

* * *

><p>A week ago, Rachel had sat down next to Brittany in the library and said some really awesome things.<p>

'Brittany, can I speak to you about something in strictest confidence?'

Brittany had flipped her book closed gratefully, because the punctuation was making her eyes go wavey, and nods.

'Sure. I'm like, super confident.'

Rachel looks at her funny, and then glances around over her shoulder.

'No, I mean, you won't tell anyone? Because, I really need to speak to somebody, and you are suitably friendly, and have experience in this field, and probably won't use it against me or immediately tell someone else.'

Rachel's eyes were really wide, and that meant that she was being serious, and this was important, so Brittany immediately starts retracting.

'Ahh, Rachel, I'm no good with secrets. Like, I need really clear guidelines on who I can and can't talk to about it, because otherwise I will accidentally mention it because someone looks bored but then it'll be the wrong person and the entire thing will get messy and then you'll come and be angry at me, or cry at me.'

Rachel blinks at her a couple of times.

'Well, the guidelines are no one. You talk to no one about it. In fact, you only talk to me about it if I bring it up.'

Brittany spots a flaw.

'Santana, though. I tell Santana everything. Including stuff that she probably doesn't want to know.'

Rachel breathes in very deeply through her nose.

'Well, Santana almost certainly doesn't want to know this. And, it is good for relationships, keeping certain things back. Helps maintain the air of mystery. So, don't mention it. It's for the best.'

This time it is Brittany's turn to glance around, and then ducks her head and speaks quietly.

'Is this like that time when I was asking Quinn why Santana kept sexing with me but didn't want to talk about it, and Q said it was because Santana was gay, but Santana didn't know it yet, and so I had to keep it a secret and not tell Santana she was gay until Santana told me she was gay.'

Rachel frowns for a bit, and then nods.

'Yes. Sort of. So, total secrecy, okay? And, also, you are not allowed to laugh, or think that I'm weird.'

'I already think you are weird.'

'_Weirder_, then. Listen...'

* * *

><p>It had been kind of awesome, since that conversation, in Brittany's head. Because now she could think of Rachel getting to it whilst thinking about Quinn. Which she is apparently doing <em>alot.<em>

Brittany didn't want to be having sex with Rachel, but hotness was hot, and Rachel and Quinn together was such an excellent idea that she is surprised she hadn't thought of it herself. Rachel would be all annoying, and Quinn would be all annoyed, and then they'd make out. Hot, right?

The only downside of the conversation was when Rachel had asked her for advice.

* * *

><p>'So what do I do?'<p>

Brittany frowns, baffled.

'Do? Keep doing it. Having sex is fun, and so, ideally, there should be someone else present, but if you are by yourself it is still pretty good.'

Rachel does this thing where her hands wave around and the rest of her goes really still and sharp.

'No, Brittany! I'm getting married in a week. We've got the dresses, remember? I'm going to be Finn's wife. I can't be having salacious thoughts about another woman a week before my wedding.'

Brittany concedes there is probably an argument to be said for that, although she is uncertain where salad comes into it.

'Could you move the wedding back a bit?'

'Not the point! Brittany...'

'Look, Rachel. You're like, Quinn-o-vision at the moment, but you also must like Finn alot or you wouldn't put up with his really bad dancing and how stuff he says makes you cry sometimes. So, I reckon, wait as long as you can, and then when you get to the wedding, and Finn is there with the ring, you can look all the way up into his eyes, and go with your gut instinct. Your gut is really smart.'

Rachel moves some hair out of her eyes, and glances at Brittany.

'What if I get to that stage, decide I don't want to marry him, but then do anyway because I don't want to let anyone down or make a scene?'

Brittany can feel her own nose wrinkle in confusion.

'What? You're Rachel Berry. You're life's goal is to always make a scene, that's what you said.'

'I think I probably said I wanted to steal a scene, but I recognise the sentiment. Thank you.'

Brittany's not sure if she said what Rachel wanted to hear, but the thank you means that she is officially off duty, and can sit back and relax.

'Awesome. So, you and Quinn, huh? That would be cool. You guys always do lots of extra communicating when you talk, so it makes sense.'

Rachel reaching out to Brittany's book, and drags it towards her, but Brittany knows she is just doing it for a distraction, so ignores it.

'It's like, when you and Finn talk, you are all 'Finn, this this this and that', and Finn listens to your words but not your body. But when you and Quinn talk, you don't say much but your bodies are saying plenty of stuff. Quinn's body is usually saying stuff like 'you are kind of annoying, so why am I so interested in you?', and 'why won't you listen to what I am saying because I am the only one saying the right thing?' That sort of stuff.'

Rachel looks up at her, eyes bright.

'What is my body saying?'

Oh, this one is easy.

'Always the samething. 'Why don't you like me?' Over and over again. Although, I'm glad you've told me about your bedroom fun, because I was getting a bit bored of that, so now I'll just think of your body saying 'why don't you take me right here?'

Rachel shushes her, looking freaked out, and Brittany throws her hands up in the air, because she doesn't get why people always make a big deal out of sex.

'What? That's what you want to happen. Anyway, that body conversation isn't weird, loads of people do it. I think about it all the time, like especially in class, when the teacher does that thing when they want everyone to be quiet, and that's boring so I think about people who I know who are having secret body conversations. It's nearly everybody, honestly. Even news readers. They'll be all, 'and now the weather, with Jeremy,' but secretly they are saying 'Jeremy, once you have done the weather so people know how to dress, I want you to come over here and have sex with me on this desk while the nation watches'. It's like... hey, don't be embarrassed.'

Rachel leaves very quickly, but whatever. Some people can't take the truth.

* * *

><p>Anyway. Brittany takes the hold all and slams the trunk closed.<p>

When she gets back, nobody's moved much, but Brittany is experiencing some renewed confidence that the universe knows what it is doing, and so is relatively sure Quinn isn't dead. Everyone just looks like that because they are imagining the worst. Finn looks like he is about to throw up.

Rachel's stopped crying, but possibly because she ran out of tears, maybe. Brittany goes to stand in her line of vision, but still has to wave her arms a couple of times before Rachel recognises what she is trying to say.

'Different clothes Rachel – so the dress doesn't have to smell of hospitals and waiting.'

Rachel blinks a few times, and then gets up to follow her. Brittany makes eyes at Santana, and Santana unwraps her hand from Mercedes', so that Brittany doesn't have to deal with Rachel by herself.

* * *

><p>It's like the change of scenery gives Rachel a second wind.<p>

'But what if she never wakes up and then it is all my fault?'...is what Brittany manages to translate, but the rest is just tears and snot and hiccoughs, and even though the toilet cubicles are spacious, having three of them in there and trying to wrestle Rachel out of the dress without ripping it whilst Rachel is totally unhelpful and just keeps flopping over everywhere is really difficult.

'Rachel, you need to wiggle something right now, because it is stuck and your dad's are going to be super pissed if it gets a hole in it.'

Rachel is wearing really complicated bridal underthings, but Santana has had enough of this and is going into angry mode, like she normally does when she is freaking out.

'Berry, dammit, stay still so I can get this off, and then you can put on your runaway bride outfit and I can begin to purge my memory of this entire experience.'

Oh, wow. Brittany makes a mental note to tell Rachel that crying at Quinn in order to try and seduce her will not work, because this is really not sexy. Tugging the t-shirt down over Rachel's head, Brittany yanks a yard of toilet paper, and smears it over Rachel's face.

'Shush, Rach. Quinn will be fine, she's head Cheerio. She's practically got super powers. Please put some pants on before San passes out.'

Rachel nods mutely, and does as instructed. She then sits on the floor, and things must be really bad, because Brittany was under the impression that Rachel would rather be set on fire than sit on a public toilet floor. Brittany squashes down next to her, and looks up at Santana, until Santana, with a slight roll of the eyes, does the same.

Rachel says nothing for forever, and then whispers,

'I nearly married Finn.'

Santana clucks slightly, and rubs a hand over her face, looking tired.

'Rachel, you were never going to marry Finn. I just wish Quinn had managed to get there and football tackle you at the alter, rather than making a distraction this way instead.'

Rachel must have almost given herself whiplash from how quick she turned to look at Santana, and Santana just shrugged.

'What? You know it is true, you just hadn't chosen to listen yet.'

Brittany nudges Rachel's side slightly.

'See? Secret body conversations. Everyone is at it.'

There's a knock on the door, and then Tina's voice.

'Guys? She's out of surgery.'

* * *

><p>Rachel's better, after all the excitement.<p>

Brittany didn't see much of Quinn, before she was taken to intensive care, but Quinn looked in one piece, and they were being really careful with her, which they wouldn't do if she was dead, so Brittany surmises she is still alive. Also, Quinn's mom is here now, and saying thank you lots of times, so things have stopped being an emergency.

There's still plenty of waiting though. It is a hospital, and this is what people do. Some of their friends start going home, but Santana wants to see Quinn as soon as she is allowed, and so does Brittany, so she guesses they'll just wait.

Rachel's not going anywhere, but does go for a walk around the hospital grounds with the dad who has stayed (the one with the cool glasses) so she can clear her head.

When it is just her and Santana, she leans over, and waits for San to wrap an arm around her.

'San, Quinn may murder you when she gets better.'

'What, for doing something she'd been on the edge of doing for ages? Unlikely.'

Brittany saying nothing, and Santana fills the pause after a moment.

'Besides, it'll be a while before she is up to full speed again. That's enough time to get at least a state's head start, I reckon.'

Brittany kisses her on the cheek, because why not, and then goes back to her favorite brand new past time.

Maybe, if Quinn had been a bit better at reading the secret body conversations, she'd have laughed in Rachel's face when Rachel had announced the wedding, and said something like, 'don't be ridiculous Berry, you can't stop thinking about me', and then pressed Rachel up against the piano, and kissed her senseless.

Maybe, if Quinn had agreed to go to the wedding a bit earlier, she'd have got there in time and challenged Finn to a dance off for Rachel's heart, which Quinn blatantly would have won, and then pressed Rachel up against the piano, and kissed her senseless.

Or, maybe Quinn would have just marched to the backstage area of the chapel and said something awesome like 'I'm not going to stand around and watch you ruin your life by marrying Finn Hudson!' and then pressed her up against the wall (probably not a piano back there) and kissed her senseless.

Her grandma's usually right about everything (except Ethel). Maybe everything does happen for a reason.


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeaaah, people other than Brittany have a hard time being so up-beat in the aftermath of a crisis. This section; Puck. (Comments are love, thank you.)**

* * *

><p>His stomach is tightening hard, when Puck knocks on the door, because this is going to be unpleasant. But there is no-one else he could ask to do this other than Mr Schu, and he's supposed to be an adult, now. The least he could do is grow a pair.<p>

'Noah! What are you..., what is going on?'

Damn, he hadn't thought of the obvious conclusions that Shelby could jump to, which were either that he was drunk and trying to seduce her, or drunk and trying to steal Beth. He holds his hands up in innocence.

'I didn't want to tell you over the phone. It's Quinn. She was in a smash, she got broke up all over the place, and I thought you'd want to...'

Shit, he doesn't even know what the end to that sentence is, and his lungs are closing up at the thought of Quinn, who was the one person he knew he would have to be in touch with for the rest of his life, having some kind of time limit on her survival, and now he's crying, hard and really fucking unneeded, because he knows she's stable but fuck it if he _can't stop._

* * *

><p>It takes half an hour before he can get the full story out to Shelby, and so much for growing a pair, because he's blubbering like a baby, and Shelby's pretty much just defaulted to teacher mode and is rubbing his back while trying to force him to drink water.<p>

But the panic of the car journey to hospital keeps coming back to him, and Finn had seemed to claim total ownership of the crisis, as if because an accident involving his ex had stopped his wedding to his current girlfriend he was the only one with the right to be freaked. The only thing stopping Puck from punching him was the fear that any kind of commotion would send Kurt's dad off-roading, because the dude already looked like he was flipping out.

'So she's stable?'

Shelby seems to notice that his fist was clenching and unclenching manically, and presses two fingers to it. 'Puck? She's stable?'

'Yeah. Last I heard, and Santana said she'd message me if anything changed. But...'

Puck isn't really sure how to explain to Shelby that, even though it is late, he just really needs to have Quinn and Beth in the same place at once, just so he can remind himself that he isn't a total loser and does manage to achieve good things, however unintentionally.

Shelby seems to read it in his eyes, and sighs, just once.

'It'll take me at least thirty minutes to get us both out the door Puck. Can you wait?'

* * *

><p>She gives him Beth to hold, after twenty minutes of prep.<p>

Beth is really small, and cranky, because she had been asleep and Puck would have been pissed too, if he'd be dragged from his bed and made to wear those funny shoes that all babies had to wear.

He jiggles her a bit, and shushes, and sings Papa Don't Preach under his breath until Beth's expression has downgraded from Quinn's _I want to rip your head off_ to Quinn's _you remain incredibly annoying but I recognise that you are trying_.

Shelby takes five minutes longer, and then walks back into the kitchen and watches him for a bit.

'I'm guessing you'll want to drive, but you've recently had a big shock and I'm not sure it is the best idea.'

Puck shrugs gently, carefully clasping the tiny hand that is pressing over his mouth with a thumb and fore finger to remove it.

'You can drive. I don't care how we get there.'

* * *

><p>Some of the implications of the messed up family tree that will greet them dawn on Puck during the drive over, and Puck wonders briefly if he is having a panic attack. He's never had one before, but maybe this is what one feels like, because he is breathing really fast and feels like he wants to tear something into pieces. But he knows that he's not allowed to have a panic attack at this point, and so sucks it up and stores it somewhere, so it can be dealt with in private.<p>

Shelby throws him a look before reaching into the car to unbuckle Beth, which essentially says 'this can only work if you make it work', and Puck grits his jaw, nodding in understanding.

* * *

><p>Brittany's awesome with kids, and Puck's grateful to find her near the entrance, talking to a vending machine. Brittany's focus switches, and it gives Puck a chance to go ahead and warn a few people he'd forgotten about.<p>

'Oh, hey, small thing. Your sweater is super cool, and I like your cat.'

As Puck leaves them, Shelby is looking a bit confused about why Brittany is talking so straight-forwardly to a kid who hasn't grasped language yet, but then Beth's arms go out towards her, and Brittany's got her safe without any fuss.

* * *

><p>Santana looks at him as if he is insane, but Puck plunges on.<p>

'Look, call me a dick later, but now can you just take Rachel and her dad somewhere and give them a briefing on who is going to be coming around the corner in five minutes, so Rachel has got a fighting chance of responding normally?'

Santana glares at him, and presses an accusatory finger sharp to his chest.

'This is fucking selfish, Puckerman. And you know it. I'll deal with the Rachel Berry show, you sort out granny over here.'

Yeah...he kind of forgotten about the whole granny situation he'd have on his hands. Puck takes a deep breath and runs his hand over his hair, before sitting one careful seat away from Quinn's mom.

'Hello Mrs Fabray.'

Quinn's mom just looks at him, with these wide eyes , and look, Puck's always been scared of parents of the girls he hooks up with, never mind the fact that this one definitely knows what he's done to Quinn, and the fact that Mrs Fabray currently looks like a member of the walking dead. He reckons he deals pretty well, in the circumstances.

'Any news?'

Mrs Fabray's eyes drift back to the door that the news comes from, and shakes her head. Puck decides that small talk isn't going to cut, and just goes for it.

'So um, look, I did something selfish, and I went to Beth's house and asked her mom to bring Beth down here, because it felt like an important thing to do. So Quinn's baby is here, but if you don't want that to happen I'll go speak to them and ask Shelby to leave.'

Quinn's mom stares at him for the longest moment, and Puck's on the verge of leaping to his feet and cancelling the whole project, but then slender fingers (so much like Quinn's) reach over to his knee, and then just rest there.

'Beth? Quinn's... the baby?'

Puck scratches at the back of his neck awkwardly, aware that he is saying none of the correct things.

'Yeaaah...look, I'll just go ask them to...'

'I've not seen her since. Since the last time Quinn was in hospital.'

Mrs Fabray trails off into nothingness, and after a moment Puck asks the question.

'Mrs Fabray? Should I ask them to leave, or...?'

Quinn's mom withdraws her fingers, and suddenly sits up so straight Puck is terrifyingly reminded of Quinn at the height of her Cheerio days.

'No. Go bring them in. I would like to see Beth.'

* * *

><p>After all the introductions have been made (and jeez, that was a minefield), Puck's got an armful of baby again, and the only person who's really crying is Rachel, and Puck isn't even sure if Rachel knows what she is crying about, anymore.<p>

Santana is by his elbow, and gently jiggles Beth's foot in a vague greeting.

'Cute kid Puckerman. I can only assume your DNA submitted meekly to Quinn's superior genetics. How long are you planning to play happy families for?'

Puck grits his teeth at her, but doesn't go much further than that.

'Not long. I just, kind of wanna get this one and Q in the same room. Just for a moment. So I can remember it. And so Quinn doesn't look at me like I didn't do my job, when she wakes up. When's next visiting hours?'

Santana looks like she's about to call him out on the bullshit of pretending that this stunt is somehow about Quinn, but Beth chooses that moment to gurgle incomprehensibly, and holding a baby is _awesome_ because it is like an automatic defence shield against anger. Santana rolls her eyes instead.

'Whatever. The visit isn't happening, next time people are allowed to see her isn't until ten in the morning, and even then it is only two at a time, and obviously Quinn's mom is going in again, and Berry's under the impression that she is top of the queue, though I'm gonna have a conversation with her about precedent when I'm more confident that standing within a metre of her won't result in an untimely death through drowning.'

Puck glances over at Rachel on the mention of her name, and how is it possible for the girl to still be crying? Rehydration needs to happen at some point.

Matter in hand. Quinn and Beth in the same room.

'What, is she in Guantanamo Bay? It's like, half one in the morning, nurse ladies must sleep at some point. Let's just... go for a walk, and see where it takes us.'

Santana jerks her head towards the sorry group occupying the chairs, where Brittany looks like she is holding forth on something mysterious, and only Daddy B was paying any attention.

'What, you're just going to wander off with mini Q here? You don't reckon Rachel the Elder will have a few issues with that?'

Puck grimaces at the reminder of how fucked up this situation is, but at least gets to pull rank with his secret insider baby care knowledge.

'Nah, man, well known tiny baby fact that crabby babies go to sleep if taken for a gentle walk.'

'Baby's first breaking and entering?'

'Dude, not breaking. No breaking. Just entering. You in then? Lemme just have a word with Shelby...'

* * *

><p>It feels kind of familiar, this sneaking through a hospital at the dead of night, waiting to be caught. Something about the weird half lighting in the corridor and the shadows behind some of the windows. Santana is walking really close to him.<p>

He's remembered. Some zombie game he'd gone multiplayer with Mike on, one of the levels had been set in a hospital. And the zombies had been pretending to be sick in beds, until you got too close to one and it'd try and throttle you with an IV cord.

Puck'd take the zombie scenario right now. Because that way he'd have Mike with him, and Santana, though pretty tough when angry, probably knew jack shit about zombie survival protocol.

In the game, he'd have been armed with a shot gun. Here, if attacked the best defence he had would be to pat Beth a few times on the back and hope she'd burp baby vom in the right direction.

'Puck, through here, probably. Trauma unit is just underneath us, and this the intensive care unit closest to the lift.'

Though, Santana has her uses. Puck had just planned on doing laps until he'd seen a sign saying 'Q. Fabray' with a big arrow underneath it.

There's a nurses station, just through the doors. Bad news - there's a nurse sat there. Good news – she doesn't look like a zombie.

Puck walks past, casual, and then leans on the wall just beyond the doors to the ward. He rocks Beth gently, and outlines the plan to his second in command.

'Right. You make a distraction. Claim ruptured appendix, that always gets people's attention. Then I'll walk in, be all, don't mind me, what threat can a man with a baby be, please continue to save that poor young woman's life, and I'll go find Quinn.'

Santana looks like she is considering murder, which Puck thinks is tactless, in the circumstances, and hisses at him.

'Sure, or, why don't we sneak into the ventilation system and shimmy our way into the ward, before lowering ourselves to the ground using your shoelaces?'

See, girls. No sense of what is and isn't achievable.

'A, My shoelaces aren't going to be long enough, and B, I can't do that with Beth, Shelby would kill me.'

Santana rolls her eyes so hard it looks like she might sprain something, and then just marches through the ward doors to speak to the nurse, blowing their cover entirely.

Mike would have been down for the appendix scenario, Puck just knows it.

* * *

><p>On her return, Santana wordlessly removes the sleeping Beth from Puck's arms, and lets her curl up into her chest.<p>

'Nurse says we can have five minutes, and only because I outlined that you were a moron who wouldn't let up until this happened, and this kid needs her bed. We have to be really quiet. Quinn's in a separated space at the back, the nurse will show us. Quinn's out of it, so I don't think it is going to make too much difference.'

The nurse looks at him as if he actually is a moron, which Puck reckons is a bit unfair, but he obediently shuffles past the silent beds and beeping machines in the twilight, following her lead.

It is a separate room, with windows covered by shutters set to half tilt, so not much can be seen from outside. The nurse motions them through with a sharp, 'Five minutes only, touch nothing', and then tweaks the blind so she can watch them from the other side of the glass.

The door clicks closed.

The room is kind of small. There's a chair, and a table, and lots of machines. One of them is beeping.

There's a window. Puck checks for stars, but the glow of a street lamp is obscuring them.

There's no ventilation shaft in the ceiling, Santana's plan would never have worked.

In the half light, Santana's face is wet with tears, even though she isn't making any noise. Puck reaches over and removes Beth again, taking her warmth into his arms. Santana approaches the bed carefully, and Puck thinks she must be looking at Quinn. He can't really tell, because he's too busy looking at the wall.

And now he's crying.

Quinn looks tiny. The machines are big, some of them, and there's about a million tubes, and Quinn's in the middle of it.

Pressing a careful kiss to Beth's head, he takes a step forward.

There's like, a hoist that is keeping one of Quinn's legs raised, and pretty much all of her left side is under wraps, like her body needs to be reminded of what shape it is supposed to be. There's another machine that whirrs in a steady rhythm, and the tubing goes straight to Quinn's mouth. Puck figures after a moment that it is helping her breathe.

There's dried blood in her hair, looking really dark.

The hand that is closest to Santana, on the less scary side of Quinn's body, has got one of those clip things on the end of the middle finger. Santana's looking at it like she wants to hold it but has forgotten how to.

Puck reaches past her, and strokes a gentle finger over a section of Quinn's arm that doesn't have cuts or grazing on it.

She's warm.

'Hey Quinn.'

Santana does this thing when her face just breaks into a mush, and puts both hands over her mouth to prevent any sound from coming out. Puck grips his hand to her shoulder, and then takes her wrist and presses Santana's fingers to that space on Quinn's skin that he had just touched. Santana's fingers shake there for a moment, and then withdraw.

Puck continues.

'Santana probably wants to yell at you, and that's why she isn't speaking, cause we have to be quiet. But she's here. And, um, Beth is too, but she's asleep, so. I'll ask to bring her back when you're... when it is daytime.'

Nothing changes, because nothing is supposed to, and then Santana stands up, and Puck knows it is time to go.

'See you in a while Quinn.'

The door clicks on closing again, and the nurse is saying that the new shift doctors are going to starting their rounds soon, so they definitely have to go downstairs now, and Santana's rushing ahead to get out of the ward, and Beth is still warm and asleep in his arms, and Puck hopes he says thank you but he really can't remember.

They're out. Santana looks furious with him, and glares through the tears for a long second, until something snaps and she is pressed into his side, hugging fiercely.

God, he's a mess.

* * *

><p>When they return, Puck deposits Beth back into Shelby's arms.<p>

'There, she's all settled. If you want to take her home that's cool. Official visits aren't for ages anyway. I'm sorry I dragged you out so late.'

Shelby looks really closely at Puck's face, and he knows it is probably really obvious that he and Santana have been crying, but he's not going to mention it, and thankfully Shelby lets it go.

'Thank you Puck. And thank you for letting me know, I appreciate it.'

It takes Shelby a while to leave, because baby's always need stacks of bags and stuff with them, plus there is a round of incredibly awkward goodbyes to be dealt with, which Puck distances himself from as much as possible.

At one point Shelby looks like she's thinking of asking Quinn's mom if she wants to hold Beth. Mrs Fabray seems to anticipate though, and just strokes the back of two fingers over Beth's cheek, before offering to help Shelby carry some of the bags to her car. But the Berry dad is up on his feet already, and Quinn's mom looks too wobbly to walk anywhere anyway, let alone carry something, so they leave it at that, and Beth's gone.

Fuck. Fuck, he's going to cry again.

'I'm going to get a coffee.'

* * *

><p>Rachel finds him in an almost empty canteen, and hour later.<p>

'Hello Noah.'

He doesn't really make much of a move to greet her, but she sits opposite him anyway, brushing careful hair out of her eyes. He pushes the wad of paper towels over to her, just in case she needs to start crying again.

Rachel takes one of them and starts shredding it methodically.

'Did you see her?'

Puck closes his eyes really tight, and wonders if he is ever going to not see the image of Quinn, broken up and bloodied, behind his eyelids. He nods, and Rachel rushes on.

'How is she? Santana's disappeared with Brittany, and Daddy keeps telling me I can't ask Quinn's mom for details because she probably doesn't want to explain, so I don't know anything and it is really difficult for me to process what is happening without some kind of information.'

Puck blows out a deep breath, and scatters some of the flakes of paper Rachel is accumulating.

'_How is she_ doesn't make sense as a question Rachel, she's not awake, they can't tell you. But, um, she looks pretty messed up. Lots of tubes and stuff. The parts of her that don't look broken look really bruised.'

'Will she be okay?'

Puck shrugs. 'I'm not a doctor. I dunno what half those machines were doing.'

When Rachel looks at him, he's impressed to see that she's crying again, but managing to do the special version that just involves tears rolling down her face and nothing else.

'Do you think this is my fault?'

Puck grunts, too tired to be angry.

'It's no one _fault_, Rachel. Not everything is about you.'

Rachel nods furiously, and wipes away some tears, which are replaced by fresh ones almost immediately.

'I know that, it's just... this feels a lot like my fault. I was rushing her, she probably did something she wouldn't normally have done, and... what if she's angry with me?'

He's getting pissed now, and stands abruptly.

'How about we worry about whether she's going to wake up, and cross the hurdle of her possible mood when we get to it, huh?'

Puck marches to the vending machine, and has to concentrate for a second to avoid punching it. Pressing the correct buttons seems a big and complex job, but he manages, and bottle of water thudding to the bottom.

When he gets back to Rachel she's a mess again. He thrusts the bottle of water towards her.

'Here. Drink something. You've been leaking tears like a crazy thing all day.'

Rachel accepts, and Puck watches her drink out of the corner of his eye, trying to get a grip on when he started caring about all the people in his life so much.

* * *

><p>They go for a walk. Not up to the ward, because Puck reckons the nurse might call security if she sees him up there again, but around the hospital grounds, picking their way by street lamps.<p>

'There. That one. I think that's her room, there was a lamp right outside it.'

Rachel stares up at it for the longest time, and Puck finds himself saying what is on his mind without meaning to.

'Look, Rach, I don't know what is happening between you and Finn, but whenever Quinn was really angry at you, it was always to do with you and Finn. And she was coming to your wedding, even though she was either really angry, or really sad about it. I dunno, I was never very good at telling between those two emotions. So, like, Quinn's going to be really emotional when she wakes up, probably, but I don't think she'll be blaming you for the car crash.'

'What do you mean?'

Puck sighs, and turns his back on the hospital.

'I'm Finn's best friend. I don't know what I mean, because you and Quinn are a mess I've never been able to figure out. But, maybe, if you want to do the right thing, don't get married to my boy until you know you want to be with him. Just him.'

'I do want to be with him.'

'Rachel. He was asking you to marry him, and you were ignoring him and messaging Quinn. Sort it out. I'm just saying.'

Rachel looks up at him with these big eyes, and Puck is definitely team Finn here, all the way, but she looks tiny and confused and his heart takes another massive hit, and Puck isn't sure how many more he can deal with in the space of twenty four hours.

'Let's go in. Things are usually less dramatic if they ain't happening in the moonlight, huh?'

Rachel nods, and tucks her arm hesitantly into his after a moment.

And Puck reckons he's done alright, tonight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Continued experiment at character voice. So far Brittany has been the easiest, which is worrying. This time; Santana. Thanks for your reviews guys, I really enjoy knowing which parts you liked!**

**(As someone spotted, I'm not from the US, so I may not get the tone completely spot on. If there's anything obviously wrong let me know, that way I can get better :))**

* * *

><p>'Santana. Santana?'<p>

Her name is awesome, right? Like, there are zero other names have three As in them. Triple A. That's a credit rating for countries that means – you are rich and awesome.

'Santana? San? Wake up. The cleaner lady wants to clean underneath me, but she can't because I can't move because you think I'm a bed.'

What? Santana sits up abruptly, and then sways slightly, overcome by the head rush and the horrific uniform the cleaning lady has to wear. Brittany pokes her leg.

'Move San. Don't make me pick you up.'

She feels like she's just been dragged out of a really deep sleep, but the clock on the wall has only moved on by half an hour. And the place smells like a hospital, because this is a hospital, and oh god, now she remembers.

* * *

><p>'Other people might come back soon San. You should eat something so you have energy so you can be mean to them for leaving Quinn.'<p>

Santana picks at the bagel slightly, and flicks some crumbs over the table.

'Brit...they were allowed to go home. Quinn's not going to be waking up for a few days, and visit times are limited to intensive care. It would have been really dumb for them all to stay, and I know that I would not enjoy Hudson's company if it had been twenty four hours since his last shower.'

'We stayed.'

'We don't sweat. Also, if everyone had stayed, it would have made everyone joint first in the race for most concerned about Q and you and I don't share podium positions with others.'

Brittany shrugs at her, and then inserts half a muffin into her mouth at once, and speaks around it.

'I still wish you'd told me you were going to sneak into Quinn's room. Now you've seen her and I haven't. Did you even say I said hi?'

Santana goes back to her bagel. 'I didn't say anything. I... I didn't want to wake her up.'

Brittany looks at her, eyes sharp.

'She wouldn't have woken up San. The meds the doctors were talking about would knock a camel out, I looked it up on my phone. You still should have said it. That way her dreams could have involved me, and be way better and have improved awesomeness.'

Santana ducks her head, because Brittany has a point, and Santana has long ago realised that Brittany is actually correct about everything important. She murmurs sorry, and Brittany reaches for her hand, and squeezes.

'It's okay though. Scared people do stupid things, and you're really scared. You probably were too busy crying at her.'

Santana looks just beyond Brittany's shoulder, too tired to deny an obvious truth, and spots the other Berry dad, turning up with rucksack and a book and a grim looking expression.

'Why aren't you scared B?'

Brittany sits back in her chair, and toys with her bottle of juice absentmindedly.

'Oh, karma. I did the math in the car on the way over, this crash is like, way unfair on Quinn for her bad stuff, so after this things have to get super good for her, or the equestrian doesn't work out. So I'm not scared. I'm mainly angry, but my grandma always said you shouldn't feel angry about stuff you can't change, you know, before she went funny on those pills and now thinks the coat stand...'

'...is her best friend Ethel, yeah, I remember. Your grandma is like, Yoda, or something. And I think you meant equation, maybe?'

Brittany shrugs.

'Maybe. Anyway, I can't change that Quinn got in a crash, so I'm trying to not be angry. And like, _everyone_ else is scared. You're scared, Puck's scared, that lady who lets Quinn live in her house...'

'Her mom.'

'Yep, her, she's scared, Rachel's like, whoa scared and depressed and floppy, and is passing it on to her dad, and that cleaner was scared after I explained what was going on. If I wasn't here being a bit angry but mainly just impatient for time to speed up so we can get to the good Quinn stuff later, your accumulated scareds would have ripped a hole in the space time continuum, and made a vortex of scared. Which is what you _should _be scared about, cause those are really tricky to fix.'

Santana blinks at Brittany a few times, and then suspicion dawns.

'Have you actually been watching those Dr Who episodes Lips keeps sending us links to?'

'Totally. Like, the Doctor can't be everywhere at once, at least one of us needs to be prepped if an alien attacks us and he's too busy saving England. He's not Santa, San.'

Santana files this under 'things that it is too early for me to deal with', and stands.

'Come on. Let's go see if Rachel believes in aliens.'

* * *

><p>Rachel, hilariously enough, doesn't <em>not<em> believe in aliens, and is trying to apply what sounds like some really hardcore agnostic logic to the concept, while Brittany asks her a series of questions apparently designed to establish whether or not Rachel is actually a 'goo person'.

'They wake up Rachel, and they don't even know they're made of goo. Because they've got all the same memories. So like, they can go for ages without knowing that there's two of them, which we really need to figure out because most of us can only deal with one of you, tops.'

Rachel's new dad, the one she is definitely not related to, (because, really?) looks like he may rupture something from maintaining a straight-face, and Santana takes pity on him.

'Hi, Mr Berry, I'm Santana Lopez. I'm in Glee club with Rachel. I do all the songs Rachel isn't cool enough to do well.'

Rachel's a freakishly good multi-tasker, because she manages to hear that and glare at her, whilst also launching into a full on speech about how she can be 'ninety seven percent certain' that she isn't made of goo. The Berry dad just laughs at her though.

'Ah, Santana! I thought it must be you, Rachel mentions you fairly often at home, but earlier circumstances prevented a proper introduction. You are the angry one with the gangster aspirations and a new found confidence in your homosexuality, am I correct?'

She is going to throttle Rachel.

Rachel's dad grins at her, and leans closer.

'She says you are very talented, and have recently overcome your previous tendency to hide your voice behind your dance routines. Bravo.'

Well. She supposes not all of that description is offensive.

* * *

><p>When some of the others turn up, it is like all of Brittany efforts to avoid the vortex of gloom or whatever were for nothing. Tina and Mike have been to Brittany's house and grabbed some clothes for them both at least, so now at least she can wear something normal rather than this fuchsia horror. Her mom has sent her Ipod over with them as well, but Santana doesn't want music right now, and so tosses in Brittany's direction.<p>

Finn seems primarily occupied with asking Rachel how _Rachel _is, which is damn stupid because last time she checked it was Quinn with the broken everything, not Rachel. Rachel, to her credit, looks suitably appalled at Finn's line of questioning, and goes for a walk that seems to turn into a run the moment she reaches the corner.

Santana's kind of puzzled about why literally everybody seems to have brought flowers. There's no evidence to suggest Quinn even likes flowers when she's conscious, let alone unconscious, and flowers aren't going to help Quinn's leg re-attach itself or whatever needs to happen so that Quinn can get back to being a serene bitch convinced of her own superiority over the rest of the student body.

God. She'd better be completely back to normal, when all this is over, or Santana is going to have to start being nice to her on a more long-term basis, and she isn't sure if she could take the strain.

If she was Rachel, she'd be crying now.

When Sam and Mercedes gets there, it is with a box of doughnuts, and that is way more appropriate, so Santana smiles gratefully when the girl slides the box towards her.

At twenty minutes to visiting hours, a tall man with an expression of barely contained rage turns up, and Finn goes very white and still, before leaning to Puck and muttering something. Puck looks like someone just told him that mohawks stopped being a hair style of the sane about fifteen years ago, and leaps to his feet, throwing an apologetic look at Santana.

'Got to go. Keep me posted, yeah?'

What the hell? Puck's off before she can say anything, and nobody else seems to care enough, and whatever, world. What the fuck ever.

Brittany strokes her knee.

'Look San, that's a body conversation that is actually an argument. Like whoa, they're really angry.'

The tall man is stood over Mrs Fabray, apparently getting filled in on the situation with Quinn. Brittany mumbles commentary.

'She's saying _why didn't you get here sooner? I needed you._ And he's saying _I got here as soon as I could, and I'm here because apparently you still cannot care for my flesh and blood, _and she's saying _how dare you, you are the one who left us,_ and wow, this would get really messy but they're both saying _we are in company, so I can't yell at you like I want._'

Right. Quinn's dad. Makes Puck's exit more understandable, she supposes.

'Now he's saying_ whatever, how soon can I see her? _And now she's saying _fine, visit her with me this morning, and then go._'

Oh, great. Do people have no concept of waiting their turn? Last time Santana checked, her and Brit have been here for twenty hours straight, and now Mr Fabray is just going to stroll in and take the next available visit slot? The bastard.

Artie wheels around the corner, copy of what looks like the local paper on his knees.

'Guys, Quinn's accident got in the news, see.'

The article looks like there is a photo with it, and as the rest of the group draws closer, Santana retreats, anger clawing its way up her throat, till she has to leave, in case she actually murders someone.

* * *

><p>She finds Rachel, eventually, sat on a low wall outside some random part of the hospital building, looking really melodramatic whilst staring at a section of the grounds that involves nothing of interest.<p>

(And whatever, it isn't like she was actually looking for the pygmy girl because she was _concerned for her well-being_. She just wants to keep tabs on her in case Rachel comes back in and busts out a song in order to try and express her really important feelings, because, hey, some of the world like to process disasters without a backing track.)

'Hey squawky. You pretending you're in a music video or something?'

Rachel ignores that (seriously, girl has no banter) and shuffles up slightly, before looking at Santana in an blatant invitation to sit next to her. Santana takes a moment to observe the several yards of wall available on either side of Rachel, but then sits next to her anyway. If anyone sees she'll just blame it on post traumatic stress.

'I've been texting Kurt. He is remarkably unhelpful.'

And there she goes again, launching into a conversation with no context whatsoever, expecting Santana to fill in the gaps. Santana fights fire with fire.

'Quinn's pop is here, looking like he's deciding who blame. I'd stay away just in case.'

Oh Jesus. She'd forgotten about Rachel's new ambition to be a fire hydrant when she grows up. After observing the tears for a few minutes, Santana grips Rachel's elbow and manoeuvres her arm to press Rachel's own sleeve to her face.

'Um, here. I have no tissues. Also, it was a joke? Mr Fabray looks too concerned with keeping up appearances to actually murder you.'

Rachel snivels for a bit, and then points a finger towards Santana sharply, forcing Santana to lean away, rather than have her face poked.

'It was a remarkably tactless joke, and in very poor taste!'

Santana rolls her eyes, and readjusts her seat on the wall.

'And? You've met me, right? This is as close as I get to being supportive. Be grateful.'

Rachel grumbles a bit, and throws her hair around, but at least this is a version of Rachel that Santana's built up a higher tolerance to, so she can safely ignore it. Reaching for her cell, she considers opening Facebook, but then has a premonition that her news feed will mainly be talking about Quinn, and she doesn't want to have to deal with that yet. Instead she just goes into her camera, and scrolls to some of the photos she'd taken at Regionals.

'Here. I haven't loaded them up yet, so you won't have seen them.'

There's a heap of the TroubleTones, and few pics of Brittany's face that Santana knows Rachel is too smart to say anything about, and then some of the group photos.

Rachel zooms in on Quinn's face in a couple, whenever she's laughing.

'Why are you still here, Berry? She's not going to wake up for a few days, the doctors have seen to that. Go sleep some, yeah?'

Rachel looks at her, frowning.

'You're here, aren't you? I haven't seen her yet. I want to see her.'

'Why?'

Rachel's face wobbles, and it's maybe a bit blunt, but Santana's bored of this now.

'Because, really Berry, me and Brit are her besties. Her mom is her mom. Puck's got a kid with her. It makes sense that we pulled all-nighters. You're the nobody. Wait your turn. Come visit in a few days. It'll make more sense to have actually slept, by the time she wakes up, unless one of the first things you want her to see on returning to this planet is the sight of you snoring and drooling in a chair next to her. She might relapse, you know?'

Rachel says nothing, and Santana wonders whether she's going to get rage or tears, but ultimately she just gets her phone passed back.

'I just want to see her.'

'Really? Okay, lemme paint a picture. She looks like shit. Her face is all bruised and swollen, she's got one leg up in the air, most of her left side looks like a t-rex has had a good go at her, and her other side looks like a sadist with a cheese grater has tried to finish the job. She's stuck in the middle of a million tubes. It smells like antisceptic and vomit in there. You really want to go sing something to that? You think Quinn will appreciate it, if I let you waltz in there and see her just after, when she's all broke and bloodied? Think about what Quinn would want, huh, rather than what you'd want.'

Rachel's crying, but that's fine because she's crying too, so one cancels out the other, maybe.

'Why are you being so mean?'

'Because I'm asking you not to be selfish. The rest of us, yeah, we get to be selfish. We want to see Quinn right-away, to check she still exists. Let us do the visits first. But I'm betting you're going to be pretty near the top of the list of people Quinn will want to visit when she actually knows what's going on, so why don't you time your devotion a bit more accurately?'

Rachel looks down at her knees sharply, tears rolling off her chin.

'You're certain she's going to wake up?'

Santana shrugs.

'Brit is. That's the best I've got, right now. It's pretty good, actually.'

Rachel nods, and Santana feels the same push of warmth she does whether somebody behaves like Brittany isn't stupid. They sit for a while not saying much, which is good because this way she's got a chance to get a grip over her emotions again.

When Rachel stands, it is legitimately to pace up and down, which is something Santana has never seen happening in real life before.

'I was texting Kurt about a hypothetical scenario in which a nervous bride, about to commit her life to a nice boy, starts finding someone else attractive, and just blames it on pre-wedding nerves. But then something terrible happens to the other person, and then the nervous bride realizes that she actually cannot deal with the concept of that person not being in her life anymore. But the nice boy is still nice and surely deserves better than for his young fiancé to call it off on the vague hope that the attractive person may reciprocate these feelings in one form or another.'

Santana blinks. 'Subtle. You tried to text that?'

'It took six messages. Kurt seems to think that it should be obvious what the nervous bride should do, but he won't tell me what the obvious reaction should be, which is incredibly frustrating.'

Santana watches Rachel walk back and forth for a bit, and then risks it.

'But he isn't telling you because it _is_ obvious.'

Rachel straight-up wails, to Santana's vague horror.

'Why isn't it obvious to me?'

'Probably, Berry, because you never do simple things when a more complicated option is available. Finn is a nice guy, I guess, and therefore a nice thing to do would be to maybe not marry him if your heart is tearing itself to pieces over Quinn. There's a crazy thought, I dunno, just throwing it out there.'

Rachel looks at her, startled, and then abruptly sits back down.

'I may have said too much.'

Santana glances up at the sky, searching for either inspiration, divine guidance, or failing that, a teleport beam that can get her the fuck away from this conversation because pretty much anyone else in the universe would be better than her, at this.

'Look, Berry, my track record for identifying my own feelings is embarrassing, but you've got drop this eager bride act, it is fooling no-one. The way you were acting at the chapel were not the actions of someone desperate to get married.'

Rachel stays silent, and Santana scuff the heel of her sneaker on the wall beneath her, prising off lumps of moss.

'Let's hypothetical this shit, shall we? Let's say... you have a choice of being around Finn for a day while he finds you adorable, or being around Quinn for a day while she finds you adorable. Which would you pick? And that's really going out on a limb, with this concept of anyone finding you adorable, can I just say.'

Rachel frowns vaguely in her direction, but then stares down at her hands, flexing her fingers. The engagement ring is still there, and Santana feels for her, momentarily, because even though the situation is entirely of Berry's own creation, it is still a tough one to be stuck in. Checking nobody is approaching, she puts a hand on Rachel's shoulder.

'Just...if you are making big choices about two people's future, make sure you are certain in what you're choosing. That's all I'm saying. Take it or leave it.'

Rachel tilts her head towards Santana's hand, until her ear is pretty much resting upon it, and sighs once. And this is... fairly intense and emotional, but it is Rachel, who could make ordering a coffee intense and emotional, so whatever, it isn't like anyone can see.

Eventually Rachel stands.

'I'm going to find my dad and ask him to take me home. You'll tell me, will you? If anything changes?'

Santana stares up at her, squinting against the midday sun, and shrugs.

'Sure.'

Rachel looks like she wants to say a lot more, but instead seems to settle for nodding her head and looking at her shoes.

'Thanks Santana. For today.'

Santana rolls her eyes. 'Whatever Rachel. Tell anyone about this and there won't be enough slushies in the world.'

It comes out fairly soft, and Rachel sees straight through it, because she just smiles once before leaving.

* * *

><p>Brittany stares at her, eyes wide.<p>

'Finn might be made of goo. He failed a lot of the goo person questions.'

Finn scrunches up his face, and puts his hands up in the air.

'I dunno, I just said that sometimes I can't remember bits of my life. But, like, I've got all the important stuff. It's just the bits that are boring, like double Math on a Tuesday, that I can't remember much about.'

Mercedes leans across, interrupting.

'Mrs Fabray went home to get some sleep, she'll be back in the evening. The nurse has said there's another slot to go see Quinn, if we wanted.'

Santana frowns.

'Why haven't you taken it then?'

Finn shrugs. 'There's four of us still here. Only two allowed up. We were waiting for you to choose.'

Brittany immediately throws her hand up in the air, and Mercedes nods.

'Obviously you girl, you've been here forever. Who else, we meant?'

Santana glances between Mercedes and Finn.

'I've already seen her. You both sure you want to see her? It ain't pretty.'

Finn clears his throat, awkwardly.

'I think it's important I have seen her. My mom would be disappointed in me if I hadn't done so before I came back, and dinner is in a couple hours. And, uhh, if I went I could carry all the flowers, cause there's like a ton to go up and my arms are bigger than Mercedes'. And, you know, I want Quinn to get better.'

Santana glances towards Mercedes, who rolls her eyes once and waggles her hand in the air. Santana nods.

'Brittany and Finny it is. Go find that nurse guys.'

Brittany beams and bounces up, and eventually Finn follows, trailing petals. Santana watches them go, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

'I'm not sure if Quinn is important to him, or dinner.'

Mercedes laughs big, and then pokes an elbow into her side.

'Bitch. What did you say to make Rachel go home anyway? I thought she'd have been climbing all over us to get to Quinn's bedside first.'

Santana shrugs.

'Just some friendly advice about the advantage of someone being awake if you want to find out their intentions for rushing to a wedding last minute.'

Mercedes saying nothing for a moment, and then snorts.

'_Friendly_ advice? You sure you ain't the goo person here?'

It's been that sort of day, Santana decides, when she just laughs and grabs Mercedes' hand, intent on dragging her down to the canteen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you for the reviews guys, I really enjoy the feedback. I'm kind of embarrassed about how this was only ever supposed to be a one shot, stream of consciousness, masturbation romp, and has morphed into something very different, but I hope you aren't all too disappointed. (Also, lol, probably not in the realms of humour anymore, either) In this section, I reveal that I secretly think Finn's a decent boy, just maybe a bit misguided in his choices. Oops.**

* * *

><p>If he had hay-fever, he'd be in a lot of trouble right now.<p>

He doesn't though, so the only trouble he's got is that Brittany's walking pretty fast, and he can't walk that fast because he can't see where the floor is because of all the plants in his arms, and so how's he supposed to check for trip wires?

'Brittany, can you slow down a bit?'

A nurse looks at him like he is being too loud, but Brittany returns after a moment.

'Hi Finn. You look cute with all of those. Quinn would think you were pretty funny, if she was going to be awake when we see her.'

'Yeah?' Finn brightens momentarily at the concept of being cute, and then remembers the end of the sentence, and knots up again. 'What do you think she's going to look like?'

Brittany stares solemnly at him, and removes a flower from a bunch and pushes it behind her ear.

'Bad, Finn. San was like, way sad and crying after she'd been up. It'll be like those scenes you see on hospital shows, except the doctors won't be panicking at each other anymore because she is stable. So, you have to remember that. Even if she looks really bad, she's stable.'

* * *

><p>She looks really bad.<p>

Brittany having a full on conversation with Quinn, about what she might have for dinner and how the hospital canteen does amazing muffins and who's brought her flowers and which color skittle each of the flowers matches the closest to, and Finn's just standing here in the corner of the room thinking that she looks really bad.

Like, really bad.

There's a chart at the bottom of Quinn's bed that he picks up, and flips open, but it says lots of things like _extreme trauma to the..._ and _medically induced coma until after further re-construction of the..._ and loads of words that look like they belong in a hospital, and that makes sense, because here they are.

People die here sometimes.

'Finn's here... but he's looking a little freaked out because, um, you look a bit broken up in places, but I shouldn't worry about it because you're generally in the correct shape, so your body will figure out how to fix things. And Mercedes is downstairs but Finn came up first because he needs to get his dinner soon. And Rachel was here a while ago, but I think Santana kind of sent her home because Rachel can cry a _lot_, you know, and it was getting kinda exhausting for everyone.'

Brittany gives him a look, and waves a hand in his direction as if to say _come on Finn, I can't do all the talking_, so he's just going to have to do something, isn't he? He grabs the other chair that the nurse had brought, and sits on the non-scary side of Quinn, right next to Brittany.

Okay. Talking to a body. Should be straight-forward.

'I'm not freaked out because of how you look, although, uh, I've seen you looking better. I just don't like hospitals very much. So like, I hope you are out soon, so I can say hi when you aren't in here. After the further re-construction of the whatever.'

Brittany's frowning at him, and maybe further re-construction of the whatever is one of those girl things that boys aren't supposed to talk about, like when it is rude to mention if one bra makes a girls boobs look bigger than the other. He casts around for another topic of conversation.

'Umm, and it is totally cool about the wedding. Like, we'll just move it back I guess. Don't worry about it.'

If anything Brittany's face has gotten worse, and this is maybe going a bit wrong, now.

'Uh. If Rachel were here she'd probably sing you a song, and then tell you that the acoustics in here are sucky. So I'll warn her about that, when I see her.'

Brittany takes over again, and Finn slumps back in his chair, exhausted.

'Santana totally says hi, by the way, and she meant to say hi from me when she came up before, but forgot because of stuff. So if you were wondering, I said hi like, last night. This is sort of, hello again! But, you know, not.'

Brittany seems to run out of steam, momentarily, and Finn leaps to his feet and starts arranging the flowers and cards on the table, just in case it is his turn to talk again.

'Anyway, when you're feeling more talkative remind me to check if you are a goo person or not. Because, Finn might be, we aren't sure. Although the doctors have been inside you a little bit, and they didn't mention any goo, so... you're probably good.'

* * *

><p>He feels really wobbly, when he leaves, and has to concentrate really hard on walking down the corridor and not into a wall, because he sort of doesn't want Brittany to know how wobbly he is when she is looking really chilled and normal.<p>

In the elevator Brittany sighs once, and puts her head on his shoulder.

'It's still kinda sad, isn't it? Even though the equation will figure everything out fairly?'

It is kinda sad, the kinda sad that makes Finn want to be by himself and cry really hard, and maybe punch something. But he isn't going to be by himself for a while, and so he needs to talk about something else.

'What are these goo people you keep talking about? Like, do I really have to be worried about them?'

Brittany perks up instantly.

'I'll forward you the link – it's a bit hard to explain, but the Doctor knows what's up.'

* * *

><p>In his car, in the hospital carpark, Finn cries.<p>

He sort of wants to call Rachel, because she's really good at making him feel better, but he gets the feeling that Rachel's probably as sad as he is, and it wouldn't be very fair of him to just ring up and make her cry again, so he's going to have to tough this one out alone.

* * *

><p>At home, his mom's made pasta bake.<p>

They all keep asking him questions about Quinn, and he wishes he could remember some of the things he's read off the chart, because none of his answers seem accurate enough for what they want to know. Kurt keeps drinking his drink really carefully and watching him like there is something weird written on his forehead. In a break of the interrogation Kurt changes the topic.

'Have you heard from Rachel?'

Finn rubs a hand across his face, not sure if he should feel guilty for not speaking Rachel since she left the hospital with her dad. But that was only like...six hours ago? He didn't have to speak to her all the time to be a good boyfriend, did he?

'Nah, she... I reckon everyone is really sad at the moment, and people always want to be left alone when they're sad. It's like, easier to not cry in front of people and stuff.'

Kurt observes him for a moment, and then places his cutlery neatly to one side of his plate.

'I think, maybe you should just check that she wants to left alone, before you leave her alone. Every base covered, am I right?'

Kurt's probably right, so Finn nods and swallows some pasta and decides to call after dinner, because he doesn't want Rachel to be sad because she's sad _and_ sad because she's alone. That's like sadness squared, which is good for no one.

Dessert is apple pie.

* * *

><p>When he gets to his room, he flops on his bed, and sends Rachel a message.<p>

_I think maybe I shuld call u becz u r sad. Do u want to b called y/n?_

It's like, he really loves Rachel, because she is really sweet, and says all the right things, and kind of tries to make him be better at the stuff he wants to do. But, he's not very good at phone conversations because he can't just hug her or kiss her if he accidentally says the wrong thing, and sometimes when Rachel is really stressed (like now, probably) nearly everything he says is the wrong thing, and he doesn't want to upset her _more._

He opens up his laptop as he waits for a reply. There are two emails from Brittany, with attachments.

_Goo people. Don't worry, they're different from aliens. B._

It's a tv show.

* * *

><p>It's a kind of awesome tv show, actually.<p>

* * *

><p>He's half way through the second episode, and pretty close to having a heart attack, when someone knocks on his door, so he mutes and pauses.<p>

'Hey?'

It's Kurt.

'Hey dude, what's up?'

Kurt glances over at the laptop screen, and Finn quickly checks to see if the show is paused on anything that could be possibly mistaken for porn, but it's just some people running along a tunnel, so he's safe. Kurt takes a step inside.

'Did you speak to Rachel?'

Umm. Shit. Finn stretches for his phone, where there is a message from Rachel.

_Thank you for your concern. I'm going to sleep instead – long day. I think we should speak tomorrow._

He doesn't really bother to hide his relief.

'No, but it is cool – she doesn't want to speak. We'll talk tomorrow. Dude, have you seen this show?'

Kurt eyes the laptop with distaste, and shrugs.

'Probably not, but I'm not exactly in the mood for people running through dark places. I, um, I was coming to check how you were feeling? About today and yesterday?'

Man, why is it that intense stuff always has to be talked about? Why can't people just go 'well, that was pretty scary, let's try and get past it.' Finn fiddles with his phone again, trying to broadcast that he isn't Rachel, or you know, _a girl_, and so doesn't need to talk about it.

'It was a bit crappy. Like, Quinn looks pretty messed up, and Santana looks like she's been doing loads of crying, which is probably the freakiest thing about it all because I didn't know she had sad emotions, I thought it was just angry ones.'

Kurt manages to ignore all of his _please leave now_ vibes, and sits on his bed.

'And what about the marriage, Finn? If things had gone to plan you'd have a wife by now.'

Like, he can tell Kurt is trying to suggest that Finn had forgotten all about that, and he really hadn't, okay? But the last two days have been crazy and the bit in the chapel seems like forever ago, if he's honest.

'Well, I dunno. I guess it is kind of annoying that everything will have to get re-arranged for another time, but it isn't that big a deal. It'd be like, rude, to think that it's a pity the wedding didn't happen when Quinn's in hospital all black and blue.'

Kurt thumbs slightly at a thread coming off his comforter, and nods vaguely.

'And you didn't think there was anything...odd, maybe, in the run up to the wedding? With people's behaviour?'

Finn tries to think back.

'No? I mean, mom cried a bit, in the morning, but I'd gathered that was normal.'

Oh, and great, now Kurt is back to staring at him weirdly again. Finn rubs a palm over his forehead, in case, and then frowns.

'Dude, what?'

Kurt's up, and seems to shake himself out of whatever little trance mode he'd just got stuck in.

'Oh, nothing. I'm going to fix myself a coffee. You want anything from the kitchen?'

'Nah, man. I'm okay, thanks.'

His bedroom door closes with a click, and the breath that Finn didn't really notice he was holding eases its way past his lips. He shuffles to get comfy on his sofa again, checks his phone once more, and then gets back to the goo people.

* * *

><p>He sleeps.<p>

His dreams are horrible. There's a crash, and Rachel was in the car too, and there's this goo stuff everywhere, and Brittany's poking her way through it looking like one of those crazy elephants with the spindly legs that their art teacher kept showing them. And he's trying to help, but Santana keeps slapping him, and when he finally does get to Rachel she's in this massive dress and no matter how much he wades through it he can't get to her, even though she's crying and Quinn's stuck in a mess of tubes and...

When he wakes, he's gasping for air and half his bed sheets are on the floor.

* * *

><p>The next time he wakes, it's morning.<p>

Their house is full of food stuff that was supposed to be for the reception thing after the wedding, but obviously that didn't happen, so his breakfast is basically the most amazing array of left overs ever, and it is pretty awesome. He rings Puck to invite him to come over and eat some, but the call just rings out, and Finn supposes the buffet stuff will last at least another day, so it's no biggie.

Half way through his second course, a thought strikes him, a left over from the dream, maybe. He texts Santana.

_Whats Quinn havin furthr reconstrcton of? Sounds painful._

After a few minutes he's not heard back, and so goes to see if Burt needs any help in the garage.

* * *

><p>In his lunch break, (more left overs) he checks his phone, and Santana finally got around to answering him.<p>

_Reconstruction of the shoulder joint, basically – it got broken badly. Op later today. And yes, I'd guess it will be painful._

Finn scratches at his chin, and shows the message to Burt without speaking. Burt winces, and shakes his head.

'Sounds pretty bad. Poor kid. We should take some flowers round to her mom, huh? Show her we're concerned?'

That sounds like a pretty grown up thing to do.

'Sure. I'll go sometime this evening, though, cos if Quinn's being operated in the afternoon sometime Mrs Fabray's probably over at the hospital now.'

Burt nods once in agreement, and Finn has never felt this grown up, ever.

* * *

><p>He buys two bunches of flowers.<p>

The first one he drives to the Fabray house, and after five minutes of psyching himself up in the car, walks up to the porch.

There's no answer. Maybe the operation is a long one? After knocking a few times, Finn retreats to the car, and shuffles around until he finds a pen, and a square of paper. He carefully writes, in block capitals;

FROM THE HUDSON-HUMMELS. THINKING OF YOU.

He goes back up to the door, and gets a bit stuck because he doesn't want to just leave them lying on the front step, but doesn't know what other option he has. Eventually he finds a discarded plant tub by the side of the porch, and props the flowers up in that. Not perfect, but it'll have to do.

* * *

><p>The next bunch Finn drives to the Berry house. He checks his face in the mirror for oil smears, and vaguely wishes he'd shaved, this morning, but no changing that now. He debates for a second about whether to call Rachel to let her know he's coming, but this is the type of romantic thing people do isn't it? Turn up unannounced with flowers? She should like it.<p>

He just really wants to make her happy.

The door is opened by a dad, and shit, he'd forgotten which name belonged to which. Like, he knew it was Hiram and Leroy, but which way around? He wipes his hand on his jeans, and holds it out for maybe-Leroy to shake. Safe bet it is.

'Evening Mr Berry. I was just passing, and I wanted to give Rachel these. Is she in?'

Possibly-Leroy shakes his hand after a slight hesitation, and then flicks a finger upwards.

'Evening Mr Hudson. She's just in her bedroom. Does she know you are coming?'

'Uh, no, I wanted to surprise her.'

Hopefully-Leroy raises his eyebrows at him, takes a careful step back, and does this thing with his voice where he's not shouting, but his volume quadruples, apparently without any effort.

'Rachel, honey? Finn's here. Shall I send him up?'

After a moment Finn can hear his future wife yelling down through the ceiling above them, and say what you want, she's got lungs on her.

'If that's okay Daddy?'

Potentially-Leroy waves a hand towards the staircase, and Finn steps through the doorway, one hand over his ear in case the guy has forgotten to re-adjust his volume control.

'Off you go, Finn.'

* * *

><p>Rach is wearing some really comfy looking pajamas, which is totally cool because if they're getting married then he can't expect her to be all dressed up and perfect every time he sees her.<p>

They look like they have owls on them.

'Here. I got you some flowers.'

Rachel looks at them with a really confused expression, like he'd turned up with an airbed pump, or a pair of oven gloves, or something weird like that. After a moment he jiggles them vaguely, and Rachel snaps out of it.

'They're really pretty Finn. But... why do I deserve flowers?'

Finn shrugs, and puts them down on Rachel's dressing table.

'Dunno. They're pretty, you're pretty, and like, everyone says you've been doing loads of crying because of all the drama, so I thought they'd make you feel better? I can take them away if you don't want them.'

Rachel looks out of the window a moment, and Finn notices that her hair is all crazy and she's got really big bags under her eyes, like she hasn't slept in forever, and he sort of wants to put his arms around her and hold her, but he isn't sure if he is allowed to, at this point.

'Maybe you should have taken them to the hospital, did you know Quinn's back in surgery right now?'

Finn runs a hand through his hair, and takes a step closer.

'Yeah, with the...' he concentrates '...further reconstruction of the shoulder. But, well, Quinn's room is like a jungle right now, with all the plants, and I think the nurses will probably want some space to work in. But I've taken some flowers around to her mom's, so she'll get them when she gets back from the hospital.'

Rachel looks at him, with really watery eyes, and _oh_, okay, hugging time. Cool.

* * *

><p>Because Finn's like, a pro now, he knows that this isn't going to build up to a make out session, but he's perfectly content like this, sat on Rachel's bed, one arm around her back the other stroking her crazy hair. She's soft, and warm, and he really just wants to make sure she's happy, because Rachel's the type of person who should be happy, because then she can project it around and make everyone else feel good too.<p>

He tries to think of some good news, to take her mind off things.

'For a while I was worried that I was a goo person, but I've been watching this thing Brittany sent me, and I've figured it's just a tv show, so I'm pretty definite I can stop worrying about that.'

Rachel's hand grips the back of his t-shirt briefly, and she then disentangles herself, glancing into his eyes quickly and smiling once.

'That's good, Finn.'

He nods, satisfied, and then watches Rachel as she checks her phone, and then goes really still and quiet, like she does when she's about to go on stage and is trying to focus.

He gives her a moment, and then asks.

'What's up?'

Rachel stares at the screen for a while longer, like she's re-reading the message a few times to check every possible meaning.

'Quinn's out of surgery. Everything went as it should.'

Finn feels something clench tightly inside him, and then relax. He grins in relief, and claps his hands on his knees.

'Awesome...' he catches a glimpse of Rachel's face , and adjusts his tone '...that's awesome, isn't it?'

Rachel nods weakly, and looks like she starts thumbing through some more messages. Finn's a bit stumped now, but pushes on.

'Cause that means now, it's just a case of waiting till everything gets better. And, you know, maybe she'll have to be in a wheel chair for a while, her leg did look pretty broke, but she's a quick learner, so I reckon it'll all be okay.'

Oh crap. She's crying.

'What about if she doesn't wake up, Finn? I've been looking up similar cases on Google, and trying to draft a few pie charts so I can accurately explain the severity of the situation to my dads, but the numbers keep scaring me because lots of people just don't wake up. Their body heals, but they don't wake up!'

Whoa, really big, messy tears now. Finn does his best, and goes for the hug and shush approach, but after a while, things don't really seem to be slowing down, and he can feel his t-shirt getting wet. So he excuses himself, and jogs downstairs, in the hope that hopefully-Leroy has got some industrial sized kitchen roll, or something.

* * *

><p>When he gets back up, Rachel's standing by the window, looking out. Finn glances out to make sure his car's still there, and then waves the tissue in the direction of Rachel's face. She takes it, and then blows really big. When she speaks, Finn has to step closer to hear.<p>

'Thanks Finn. You're... that was really nice of you.'

Finn shrugs, because duh. He is nice.

'Any time Rachel.'

Rachel looks like she takes a really big breath, and turns towards him, and whatever's coming next, Finn can tell it isn't going to be good.

'We need to talk about the wedding, Finn.'

Oh, no.

* * *

><p>When he gets home, its two hours later, and everything hurts.<p>

Kurt and his dad are playing something that looks a lot like chutes and ladders, which he'd normally be all over, but right now he just wants to go find his mom.

His mom's upstairs, doing that thing where her roots need topping up, so the room smells funny and it looks like a lab experiment is going on by the dresser.

'Mom?'

His face must look like someone just died, because his mom takes one look at him and sits down really quickly on the bed.

'Is Quinn okay?'

And then he feels really guilty, and tries to suck it up a little, because he's not dying, and Rachel isn't dying, so he shouldn't be _this_ emotional about stuff.

'Yeah, mom. Quinn's okay.'

His mom relaxes a little, but her face is still tight, and she shifts and pats the bed next him. Finn shuffles over, and sits, but doesn't really know where to start. Eventually his mom strokes the back of his hand.

'Are you okay?'

No. No he's really not okay.

'Rachel says that we need to not get married, because we're young, and so don't really know what we want.'

'She... oh honey.'

He's all broken up now, and so his mom just holds him.

* * *

><p>After a while of him embarrassing himself, his mom goes downstairs, leaving Finn to try and decide whether he wants to punch something, kick something, or maybe hug a pillow.<p>

He does nothing though, and just sits on the bed staring at the wall until Burt comes up.

'Hey buddy. Your mom's just told me.'

Finn tries to nod his head, but probably ends up just poking his chin funny, and can't really make eye contact. Burt seems to flap his arms a bit, and then sits, a hand space away from him.

'Hurts, huh?'

Like a steam-roller squashing his heart, yes. Finn goes for the chin poke again, and inhales big, through his nose.

'What did she say?'

Finn doesn't like doing this, because it means he has to flash back to Rachel, with her wobbly chin and her never-ending supply of tears, explaining that she thinks they may be making a mistake.

'That... she thinks we both were rushing things, and that we need to take big decisions like this a bit more seriously, and the accident with Quinn has shown her that the future is really hard to predict, and she thinks that this is for the best.'

Burt absorbs this silently, as Finn watches his own hands shake and lets the tears dribble off his nose.

'And, how did she look when she said all this?'

Finn presses his eyes closed really tight, but that doesn't make it go away.

'Like, really serious. And sad.'

Burt presses a hand to the back of his neck, and grips, once.

'You probably won't want to hear this, but Rachel seems a nice girl. And a smart girl. And she wouldn't do this if she didn't think it was the right thing to do.'

'Then why did she say yes in the first place? If she wasn't sure, why'd she do that?'

His voice is all crazy and wobbly, but he doesn't seem to have much control over anything, right now, so it's no surprise.

'Maybe because she thought she was doing the right thing then, too. It's been a difficult few days, Finn. The sort of days that can bring doubts that are hidden in people's head up to the surface. And... it's tough, but you really don't want to marry someone who isn't totally certain Finn. Everyone's got to be definite for it to work.'

Finn balls his fists, tightly, and he's going to need to go to his room really soon.

'I was definite. I am.'

Burt's being gentle with him, he can tell.

'Are you definite for the right reasons, son?'

Finn's got nothing to say, because what are the right reasons other than Rachel's lovely, and she makes him happy, and he wants to make her happy?

Burt grips at the back of his neck again.

'Did she say... that it was over, between you, or just the engagement?'

He doesn't know. One feels very much like the other. Finn wordless shows him the ring he's been clutching on to since Rachel had given it back to him, and shrugs.

'I dunno.'

Burt removes it from his hand, and inspects it, momentarily, before replacing it.

'You're gonna be a good husband, Finn. Whoever you end up marrying.'

That's the final straw, and Finn breaks, all over again.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for the reviews. I'm glad people are enjoying it, even if I do make you read 5K of Finn pov :) This one is Kurt. **

**(I am not a doctor, therefore the medical side is essentially nonsense I've created to fit the story. If any of you guys are doctors, please consider any errors as creative license!)**

* * *

><p>Oh, boy.<p>

From the moment Kurt hears Finn's door slam, and the sound of some furniture being kicked around, he's on the phone to Mercedes.

'Where abouts are you? Are you available to take a call that is going to require full concentration and some kind of warm down afterwards?'

'Uhh, hang on.'

There's noises that sound a lot like a car door being slammed, and Kurt can hear Mercedes talking to her mom, and then footsteps on the stairs and a door being closed.

'Just back from the hospital with mom, she wanted to drop off some flowers for Quinn. And Kurt, I'll be honest, I'm kind of hoping you didn't accidentally call me instead of Blaine, because I really do not need to know that you guys participate in _those_ kinds of conversations.'

Kurt reviews his previous statement, and pulls an involuntary face.

'Oh my gosh, no, no I definitely meant to call you, about drama. Drama that is going to require the warm down. Nothing else. Are you comfortable?'

Mercedes cackles a little bit, and then grunts, and thuds sound in the background.

'I'm taking off my boots... how far were you hoping to stretch this innuendo?'

Kurt brings a hand to his face in despair, and then hisses.

'Mercedes! Focus. Big drama. Code crimson. Get it together.'

That gets her attention.

'Crimson? We haven't had a crimson since the last time... oh no.'

He loves her. She is smart, intuitive, and they share a brain. He waits, in expectation of her final, flawless leap to the correct conclusion.

'Finchel's over.'

Kurt breathes out gently through his nose, oddly satisfied.

'Again.'

* * *

><p>The conversation, naturally, focuses on the frankly bizarre timing of the entire split, rather than the fact they split up in general.<p>

'What's changed? Something big has gone down, I know it. We were in the dresses! We were all ready to go, I'd crammed myself into that stupid dress, Rachel knew that if I'd been made to wear that dress for nothing there'd be hell to pay, so what's changed?'

'I really don't know. The wind?'

Well, he has an inkling, of course, if he is translating the manic series of texts Rachel sent yesterday with any accuracy, but he can't exactly claim that being outed is the most horrific thing to happen to someone, and then raise his suspicions about Rachel's meltdown over Quinn, purely to spice up the conversation, can he? He clears his throat again.

'Maybe she realised that a teen wedding wasn't going to look so good, retrospectively, when her 'Rising Star' biography is released.'

Mercedes snorts at him, then sighs.

'We need more info Kurt. Go speak to Finn.'

Kurt tilts his head away from the phone, and listens for a moment. The chair bashing appears to have died down, the house is now deadly quiet, but he hesitates.

'Bit soon, maybe? I mean, I admire your investigative reporter nous, but Finn was really cut up over it, I'm not sure I want to make him give a blow by blow account just yet.'

Mercedes mumbles with discontent, but eventually concedes.

'You probably right. Plus, it's probably too soon for him to be at all accurate on the crucial details.'

'True. Also, we need to speak to the instigator of the split, not the recipient, if we want details. We need Berry.'

Mercedes sighs noisily.

'I know that Kurt, what you think I am, some kind of amateur? I've been sending her messages as we speak. But she ain't answering, I... oh wait.'

Kurt puts the phone down briefly to give a short round of applause to Mercedes' tenacity and multi-tasking skills, and then snatches it to his ear again.

'Well?'

'She says; I am asleep. In capitals. With three exclamation marks.'

Kurt groans, and checks his reflection in the mirror.

'That girl really needs to work on her alibi skills.'

Mercedes chuckles at him, and, from what Kurt can hear, seems to drum her fingers on her desk.

'We need to get ourselves invited into the Berry house. Well, you do, I got church tomorrow morning, and I will be expecting a full de-brief of your heartfelt conversation with Rachel afterwards. You are like a peace-envoy, Kurt. But for gossip, you hear?'

Kurt smiles. 'I won't let you down. Even if I have to chloroform the Berry dads, I will get into that house. Night, Mercedes.'

'Night Kurt.'

* * *

><p>He doesn't sleep well, and at some point in the night his phone lights up, pulling him out of whatever slumber state he'd managed to achieve.<p>

_Can you come round tomorrow Kurt? I need to talk to you._

Kurt puts it down on his nightstand, and rolls away from it, trying to cocoon himself in the comforter. Mission access Berry house; accomplished.

* * *

><p>It's a lovely day, so he decides to walk.<p>

Counting backward, Kurt establishes that this is the fourth day since Rachel Berry almost became some form of sister in law to him. He's not sure what emotion he should feel about that, but surprise doesn't really factor very high, not when he delves down deep.

It is probably something to do with the eternal spiral of happiness to unhappiness Rachel and Finn seem to be stuck in, but the idea of a wedding to fix all of that had seemed slightly ludicrous to him.

So, the reasons for the last minute wedding cancellation could have been less horrific, but he's not shocked that the cancellation came.

Today is the day when Quinn is supposed to start waking up, he remembers.

Four days ago, Rachel was in a flat panic, and refusing to marry Finn until Quinn showed up, and Quinn nearly got herself killed trying to get to the wedding.

And when it is phrased like that...

* * *

><p>Rachel looks...unkempt.<p>

'Honey, you look a mess. Emotional crisis' aren't an excuse to neglect your hair care routine, nor a reason to wear such a monstrous arrangement of clothing. Please go and get in the shower, and ensure to leave all of those items of clothing outside the door, so I can burn them in a small ceremony dedicated to the fashion gods.'

Rachel pouts at him, but does as she's told, thankfully. Tough love has always been his speciality. He opens her wardrobe, selects more appropriate attire for what he inevitably knows is going to be a trip to the hospital, lays it out on the bed, and heads downstairs to see if the Berry espresso machine is still in good working condition.

* * *

><p>When Rachel comes downstairs, he's on his second cup, because he can feel he's going to need the energy. Rachel looks around, cautiously, and then approaches the table.<p>

'Where are my dads?'

'Dapper Dad has just headed out to the store. Dashing Dad said he was going to do some yard work, but I think that may have been code for lying in the sun, I'm not sure.'

Rachel still looks a little haunted, and perches on the chair as if she's preparing to make her escape at any given moment, and Kurt starts leaping to some straight-forward conclusions.

'Have you not told then about the abrupt end of Lima's hottest young couple?'

Rachel glares at him, and whispers sharply.

'No I have not, and I do not appreciate your attempts at levity Kurt Hummel. This is serious.'

Kurt rests his head on his hand, and drums his fingers along his cheekbone, once.

'Why haven't you told your dads, Rachel?'

Rachel ducks her head down, and Kurt can tell she hasn't fully completed the job of drying her hair, so it is going to develop a wave.

'I'm sure they gathered what was going on from the commotion last night, neither me nor Finn are particularly subtle when emotional. And... I'm not sure what I'm going to say to them when they ask me why I've broken up with Finn.'

Kurt stares at her for a moment longer, and then drains his cup.

'Come on. Let's go back to your room so we can discuss this charming little nervous breakdown you are cultivating in private.'

* * *

><p>Kurt's opening move is to go into his inbox, and read Rachel's flurry of 'hypothetical' messages aloud, from his position on Rachel's bed. By the final one he is impersonating her voice a little, and Rachel throws him a glare before returning her gaze to the street outside.<p>

'I know what you are thinking Kurt, so just spit it out.'

'This is me hypothesising wildly, you understand, but I'm guessing that you might be the nervous bride starring in this elaborate saga?'

Rachel nods once, and Kurt ploughs on.

'And Finn is the nice boy...'

Another nod, and now Kurt cannot actually believe what he is about to say, but no other logical conclusion is presenting itself. His voice drops the light-hearted tone.

'And the attractive person is Quinn Fabray.'

Technically he hadn't phrased it as a question, so _technically_ Rachel doesn't have to provide any answers, but before he starts coming up with elaborate theories and action plans he is going to need some solid facts, so he pushes her.

'Rach?'

Rachel jaw quirks, and then she just nods, before coming over and lying on the bed next to him, staring up at the ceiling while Kurt tries to get a grip on when the world went mad.

Before he can really comes to terms with this seismic shift in his life, Rachel's launched into what feels like a well practiced speech.

'Can I just say that I've always considered myself to be sexually ambiguous, regardless of my hetero-normative romantic history. But the fact that this is a same sex attraction is fundamentally irrelevant. I've been having feelings for someone other than the boy I was going to marry. This is not what should be happening in the run up to your wedding, and is therefore clear indication that the union needs to be significantly postponed, if nothing else.'

Her voice becomes incredibly shaky at the end of this announcement, and he reaches over and up, and pats what was supposed to be her shoulder, but feels a bit more like her face. The sentiment remains, regardless.

Rachel rolls over and tucks her arms under herself, so that she is essentially inhaling blanket, and it makes her next words incredibly muffled.

'Finn's always the good guy. Do you think this makes me a bad person?'

Kurt sits up at that, and pokes her in her side until she looks at him.

'No, sweetie. There is no 'bad guy', in this scenario. I think your timing is horrendous, and this is perhaps a revelation you should have had maybe _before_ you accepted his proposal and planned out the wedding, but I don't think breaking it off because you had doubts makes you a bad person. It only would have stored up trouble in the future.'

Rachel snivels a bit, and closes her eyes.

'How's Finn?'

'Low. A veritable cloud of misery. No chair is safe around him. You can't change that. But you're both young. You've got plenty of time to fall back into each other's arms again, if that is what is supposed to be. _Or_, he's got plenty of time to get over you and find something else, whilst you and Quinn investigate the commuting options between Yale and NYADA. And can we talk about the fact that you've gone a little bit gay over Quinn Fabray yet? Because I've been close to exploding ever since I translated your crazy texts.'

Rachel makes a very unlady-like sound, and buries her face back into the pillow, so Kurt does the only appropriate thing, which is to tickle her, because he gets the feeling it has been a good few days since she laughed.

* * *

><p>When he realises what the plan is to get to hospital to witness Quinn's return to this earth, he nearly passes out.<p>

'Santana is coming to pick you up? Santana? Anything else dramatically changed in your life Rachel? Have you gotten engaged to Puckerman since I last saw you?'

Rachel is tucking her hair up with a hair tie, and rolls her eyes at him.

'We came to an understanding, outside the hospital. She, um, told me to go home.'

Kurt snorts.

'That sounds very understanding.'

'It was! And she's the only one who seems suitably scared of the fact that Quinn might not wake up, because though Brittany's confidence is refreshing, the doctor's said that she'll _almost_ certainly wake up, and she'll _almost _certainly be fine, and I don't like those odds, because what if she doesn't? Or what if she does but she's not the same person at all, not as smart or talented, and that would be all my fault?'

Kurt shushes her, and leaps up off the bed to finish her hair for her.

'Rachel. Can we save the histrionics until we know what happens? Now come here. Your hair is fine. Your outfit is suitably soothing for a hospital, whilst also letting you look radiant enough that if Quinn did go from unconscious to fashion appreciative in thirty seconds, she'd approve. Regardless of whether you just want her to like you, or you want her to fall madly in love with you, she'd approve.'

The final sentence earns him a smack on the arm, but he seems to have stemmed the flood of tears, for now. A car horn honks, and Rachel glances up at him.

'Are you coming? I know you and Quinn aren't all that close, but we are, I think, and I'd really like someone there in case things don't go like they should.'

Kurt gives her a quick little hug.

'Of course. Nothing more glamorous than spending an afternoon at the hospital, nowhere I'd rather be.'

* * *

><p>This car, he realises in a sudden flash of inspiration, contains only non-straight people.<p>

It's kind of awesome, and he hums a celebratory little tune to himself, before looking out of the window to hide that his grin is raging out of control.

Santana spots it, and scowls at him in the mirror.

'Having fun, are we? It's not too late to throw you out of the car, Hummelbird.'

Brittany flicks around and observes him for a second, before shushing Santana.

'Leave him Santana, he's just happy because he's realized we're like the gay Ghostbusters right now.'

The look on Santana's face actually makes him laugh out loud, and Brittany grins happily at him, before turning back to face the front and bobbing her head along to an unheard tune. Kurt watches her, and just when he thinks the effort of suppressing the laughter may cause him to crack a rib, Brittany suddenly belts out,

'Busting make me feel good!'

Rachel laughs, before finishing off with the appropriate _yeah yeah yeah yeahs, _and Kurt's completely lost it.

* * *

><p>When they get to the hospital Quinn's mother is there, looking terrified, and that sobers Kurt's giggle fit pretty quickly. Brittany pulls her into what appears to be a really easy hug, and then slips her arm through hers.<p>

'Hey Mommy Q, we okay to be here too? We're all bored of waiting to say hi to Quinn when she can say hi back, and Kurt is here because he'd be really good at telling lots of our friends quickly that Quinn's okay, so they can start sending her treats to eat while she's here.'

Quinn's mom looks a bit baffled, but mainly grateful, and nods her agreement, so they all shuffle into the small office that a doctor is waving them towards. Kurt squeezes Rachel's hand really hard as they sit down in two of the available chairs, because Rachel really needs to keep it together now, for the sake of Quinn's mom. Rachel dips her head once, and Kurt knows she's got the message.

The doctor opens up her Ipad, flicks around a bit, and leans towards Quinn's mom so she can see the screen, and starts explaining.

'She's been kept under, as you know, since the accident, to avoid discomfort and to allow her body to get over the initial trauma and process the shock. Since yesterday's further operation to her shoulder, she hasn't been given any further anaesthetic, which means we are looking at a window of approximately one to two hours in which she'll start to become conscious, if all goes to plan.'

Quinn's mom nods carefully, and the doctor swipes her finger across the screen, presumably bring up another image.

'As you can see from the scan, there was initial swelling to the brain, but that has decreased well, and so we are no longer concerned about that. She's coped with the transition off the respirator without a hitch, as we expected, and is now breathing unaided. You're aware, of course, that the paramedics got to her in good time, and so things have gone exactly as I would have hoped. Of course, it is difficult to be totally certain until the drugs have fully left her body what her response will be like, however, from the data we have, things have gone very smoothly.'

Kurt glances over towards the other side of the room, where Brittany is stroking a hand through Santana's hair and Santana looks like she's having a hard time holding back tears.

'So, Mrs Fabray, I would recommend you and I go up now, and you can stay with her through that crucial period, until we know more about what is happening.'

At this point the doctor glances at the rest of them, and smiles quickly.

'The nature of the transition from medically induced coma to wakefulness means she is unlikely to be fully aware of what is going on for the next few days. It is very difficult to predict. She might be completely aware of what is happening from the moment she reaches consciousness. She might only be awake for two minutes and then go back to sleep. Her memories may well be foggy and scattered. I stress this; we will not know for definite how she is, and whether there is any lasting mental damage resulting from the head trauma she suffered, for a good couple of days. But, she is where she needs to be, and has been receiving the best possible care.'

No matter how much the doctor sounds soothing and unconcerned, her words still feel like a punch to the stomach. Quinn's mom stands, and leads them out, and then turns to them, with the doctor waiting just out of ear shot. Kurt takes an automatic step backwards, because he can tell this isn't quite meant for him.

'I'll ask a nurse to send word down, the second anything happens. And...thank you, girls, for coming. I'm glad she's not...I'm glad we're not... alone, in this.'

Okay, now he's crying, so he'll let Rachel and Santana off, he supposes.

* * *

><p>Brittany is listing animal groupings, from her phone. Alphabetically.<p>

'A movement of moles, a watch of nightgales, a parliament of owls, a pickle of porcupines, oh no wait, that says prickle, that makes more sense, a bevy of quails, whatever they are...'

Santana has her head in Brittany's lap, lying across three chairs in the waiting room, and looking like she is attempting meditation.

Rachel is sitting just opposite him, because that way she has her back to the clock, and appears to be performing deep breathing exercises.

Kurt is, well, slowly going crazy from nerves and fear, and fighting the urge to drag a chair over to the clock and give the clock on the wall a shake, because he is certain the minute hand has gotten stuck because there is no way that time can be moving _this_ slowly.

His phone is full of Mercedes' messages, but he can't really process how to answer at the moment, and so just sends back a hasty,

_At the hospital with Rachel (!) waiting for Quinn to wake up. Can't talk. Will let you know as soon as I know. Xox_

* * *

><p>There's a nurse.<p>

'You kids here for news on Quinn Fabray?'

Santana scrambles to her feet, and then looks like she might fall over immediately after.

'Yes?'

'Her mom said that she's awake, and answering questions, though she isn't fully with it yet. Two of you can go up, if you want.'

Oh, thank god. Santana clutches her hand to her chest, while Rachel makes a sound that registers halfway between joy and relief. Brittany whoops vaguely, and then Santana seems to hear the end of the sentence, whips around to give him what can only be described as a death glare. He immediately throws his hands up in the air.

'Between you three, seriously. I'm just glad she's awake.'

There's this fairly drawn out moment, in which Santana and Rachel stare at each other, until Santana reaches over to Brittany and grips her hand, in a clear message of _regardless of your brand new exciting emotions, me and Brit go first._ Kurt has a feeling that this could go either way, and he just hopes that a vocal duel isn't used to settle it, because the nurse is already looking at them weirdly.

Then Rachel surprises him.

'You and Brit should go. You guys are like... you should go. Could you please inform her that myself and Kurt are here too, and are delighted she has easily taken this crucial step on the road to recovery.'

Goodness, he's proud of her. And just when he thinks his eyebrows couldn't get any higher on his forehead, Santana steps forward and _hugs_ Rachel, and Rachel seems to submit to it and hug back and show no signs of physical distress.

Brittany claps twice, signalling the break-up of the hug.

'Yay. Now come on San.'

Santana shoots him a glare, before walking off with Brittany, and the gay alliance doesn't seem to quite stretch to him yet.

'Say anything and your body will never be found, Hummel.'

Charming.

* * *

><p>Rachel leaves, after a moment of staring blankly into space, and Kurt hopes she gone for a walk, or maybe a celebratory cry, or something that'll get rid of some of the nervous tension in her body, because she had been vibrating, slightly, after Santana had left.<p>

Kurt reaches for his phone, and breathes deeply, trying to figure out how to summarize the good news to Mercedes, while also condensing some of the doctor's warnings into text-message format.

* * *

><p>Rachel returns with red eyes, and a two cups of coffee, and he smiles gratefully, and allows her to tuck into his side and rest her head on his shoulder.<p>

A thought strikes him.

'Finn doesn't know about the whole, finding someone else attractive scenario, does he? Because that might be a tough one for him to swallow.'

Rachel shifts slightly, and shakes her head.

'No. Only you know. And Santana. And, well, Brittany knew first. And Puck might know, he said some very peculiar things to me, on the first night.'

Okay; offense taken.

'They all knew before me and Mercedes?'

Rachel sits up abruptly, and grabs his hand.

'The only person I _told_, was Brittany, because I was hoping she'd say developing crushes on friends was completely par for the course. Everyone else just seemed to... make some fairly accurate assumptions.'

Kurt sighs, and drops it.

'Okay, fine; you are as subtle as a brick sometimes. Can I tell Mercedes?'

Rachel frowns at him, and then pouts slightly.

'Can I... maybe figure out what I'm feeling, before the entire state needs to know? This Quinn thing may just be a passing fancy, a vehicle for my awakening desire for a more fluid sexuality. I might not even actually like her.'

Kurt is proud of himself, for the way in which he manages to not dry heave in front of Rachel while considering her 'awakening desires', and tries to steer the subject back to safer topics, in case he gets more details than his brain can process.

'Okay, so...what do you actually like about Quinn? Apart from her sunny disposition and angelic actions towards everyone?'

The sarcasm earns him a glare, but Rachel repositions herself on his shoulder, despite it.

'It has been a long time since she was malicious, or nasty for no reason, Kurt. And...I'm not sure what I like about her. I mean, she's impossibly graceful, and elegant, and looks so happy, when she's performing with us. And she's smart, she truly is my intellectual equal, which none of my suitors could really claim to be. She gives me good advice, and doesn't just tell me what I want to hear, and challenges me. She makes me want to impress her, or surprise her, in a good way. She believes in me, believes I'll get to NYADA, believes I'll be a success, believes I shouldn't settle for second best...'

Kurt rolls his eyes and hides a smile, before interrupting Rachel's little monolog.

'Her hair looks like sunshine and she smells like candy floss, and when she dances you can almost hear the angels sighing...'

He gets smacked on the arm again, and shushed, but Rachel's giggling, nevertheless.

* * *

><p>Santana and Brittany come down after almost an hour, and Quinn's mom follows, looking emotionally exhausted. She waves at them once, before heading for the exit.<p>

Brittany nudges Rachel's side, before placing a hand on top of her head.

'Quinn sounds funny, like speaking is really hard, and she's all woozy and confused. But she's still Quinn, so that's good. She's back to sleep now, the doctor said that's normal.'

Rachel nods really quickly, and Kurt can see that she's knotting her fingers together, like she's not sure whether to ask. Santana just nods her head wearily at her.

'Me and Brittany are going to drive home with Quinn's mom, just so she's okay when she gets in. She says you can go up and visit Quinn, the doctors say its fine, but don't try and wake her, natural sleep is a good sign, at this point. Berry, do you reckon one of your dads can come get you, afterwards?'

Rachel nods her head, a little frantically, and Kurt stands up to go and be next to her for moral support. Santana looks like she remembers something, and then reaches for her phone.

'Here, Berry. I took a photo. So you know what to expect, because if you wake Quinn up with some sobbing I ain't going to be happy.'

Squinting, Kurt can see, well, not much, but enough to grasp that Quinn is looking in a really bad way. Rachel goes all wobbly next to him, and he slips a hand into hers and grips.

* * *

><p>Oh, it is horrible.<p>

It feels way too similar to when his dad had been in hospital like this, and Kurt stays outside, for a good twenty minutes, trying to get his panic under control, just watching Quinn through the glass.

Rachel is made of steel, he realises. On arrival, she walks in without a flicker of hesitation, calmly re-arranges some of the seats, and then takes Quinn's hand on the right side, and just holds it, ignoring the tubes that are attached to the back of it and the heart-rate monitor on the end of her middle finger.

Through the glass, Kurt can see she is silent, but he gets the impression that she is singing something pretty hard right now, in her head.

He really needs to go find a tissue, because this jacket is dry clean only so he really can't wipe his tears on his sleeve.

* * *

><p>On return, a good ten minutes later, (and yes, he may well have gone to the washroom at the opposite end of the hospital, what of it?), Rachel spots him on the other side of the glass, and after a minute longer, says what looks like a few quiet words, and then leaves.<p>

Just outside Quinn's room, she looks into his eyes, totally calm, and Christ, Kurt feels a fool for being as cut up as he is.

'I need to go ring my dads, so we can get home, it isn't helpful for me to be here when she needs to sleep, I'm scared of waking her.'

Kurt nods briefly, and does his best to appear as in control as Rachel suddenly is.

'Okay, good idea. I'll, umm, go in for a little bit, maybe. While you do that. Just to say hello. Without making any noise...' he hastily adjusts, and Rachel glares briefly at him.

Rachel nods, and squeezes his hand once as she goes past, and then it is just him and the door to the unconscious person.

He can do this.

* * *

><p>He has no idea what the etiquette is.<p>

Taking her hand feels a step too far. Staring at her injuries feels wrong. Staring at her face, and the way the black eye is bruising its way to green, feels rude. Re-arranging the flowers feels insane.

He settles for staring at the flowers, and the gathering dusk outside, and tries to concentrate on his breathing, making sure every breath in and out lasts at least five seconds.

He glances over his shoulder, to see if Rachel's back yet. And when he glances back at Quinn, she's looking at him.

He almost screams, and grips the edges of the plastic chair underneath him really hard.

Quinn frowns at him, really slowly, like she has to remember which muscle does what, and then blinks.

'Kurt.'

Her voice sounds terrible, and he automatically reaches for the cup with the water in it, and places the straw next to her mouth. Quinn drinks slowly, two gulps, and then closes her eyes again.

'Thought you were...Rachel.'

'Oh my god you're lucid. I...' Kurt casts around trying to decide whether to run and find Rachel, but this is a hospital, and he can't just run around screaming. Besides, he doesn't feel like he has full control of his body.

'She was just here. She says hi.'

Hi? She says hi? Girl is coming out of a three day coma, to be told someone says hi? Kurt barely restrains from smacking his own forehead.

Quinn looks at him again, and then her eyes droop, and Kurt can kind of tell she's falling asleep again, and this conversation isn't going to last long.

'Wedding... did it...'

This is probably what heart palpitations feel like, Kurt decides.

'They didn't get married. She's... she's not married.'

He doesn't get an answer, but something closer to a grunt. After the passing of a minute, he says her name really quietly. Nothing.

There's a gentle tap on the window, and when he looks over his shoulder, Rachel's smiling softly at him and beckoning him out. When he emerges Rachel asks if he's okay, and Kurt makes a snap decision.

'Yep! Fine. Quinn's fine too. No change.'

Rachel nods, and glances once more at Quinn, before leading the way out.

When Kurt takes a final look, he could swear there is something close to a smile, on Quinn's face.


	7. Chapter 7

**A few notes - Firstly, thank you for the reviews. Your interest and enthusiasm is one of the reasons I'm enjoying writing this. Secondly, I am, by necessity, having to slow down a bit. However, forcing creativity is rarely a good thing, and I know what I'm doing with this story, so I'll keep ticking along. Finally, this will be the last new pov I attempt. Partly because some of the other characters haven't been given a clear enough voice for me to gain any satisfaction from replicating it in the story, and also because I don't want to force extra characters into the storyline for the sake of it.**

* * *

><p>'There... she's getting there. Five more minutes or so. Remember, she'll potentially be very confused, initially.'<p>

Getting there... Quinn has a feeling, a sharp squeeze at the base of her lungs, that tells her there is somewhere that she needs to be.

She's in a bed. The sheets are different, the smell is...familiar. In the wrong way.

Why does everything hurt?

Why are people talking to her?

There's a light now, shining bright into her eyes. She frowns and tries to wave it off her, but her shoulder protests, and the jolt of pain sharpens reality.

'Honey, can you tell me your name?'

'Quinn...Fabray.' Her voice sounds odd, syllables pushing out past a parched throat.

'And, can you tell me where you are?'

The questions, combined with the smell, allow her to hazard an unpleasant guess.

'Hospital?'

There's a hand, squeezing her right palm uncomfortably tight.

Quinn makes to flex her fingers, but she's tired, so tired.

More questions.

She remembers driving.

She remembers hurting. Before, during, after.

Her mom is crying. And, Quinn notices after a moment, squeezing her hand in a rhythm that matches the beeping of a machine.

It feels like a while before she figures out how to move her face, but when she does, it is supposed to be a frown and an eyeroll.

'Mom...'

Quinn's anxiety starts solidifying when her mother dissolves into noisy tears that have little to do with grace or dignity, and appears to try and hug her. In public. But she is hampered by all the tubes and wires that seem to be attached to Quinn.

She didn't get there.

* * *

><p>She's alive, she supposes.<p>

Could have been worse.

Quinn focuses on that, the next time the doctor speaks to her, as she is reading out a list of injuries to things Quinn didn't even know could be broken.

Head, shoulder, hip, leg, ribs. Something about her spine that sounds very complicated, but Quinn doesn't ask, because she really doesn't want to know, just closes her eyes and sends a silent prayer up, towards the sky.

The doctor tells her it is now early the next day, and that's why her mom isn't there anymore. Quinn nods, trying to act like massive chunks of time disappear like that all the time, and she's not at all concerned. Plus she has no clue which day the previous day was, and so protesting about her tenuous grip on the passage of time seems irrelevant.

The doctor tells her people visited, but she was sleeping.

'It'll be a bit of a blur for a few days still. We've still got the pain relief fairly high, it's normal for things to seem hazy.'

Quinn looks at her leg, held up in the air unnaturally, and thinks about how her body must be screaming at her, but she just can't hear it.

She feels sick.

The doctor tells her she is doing well. The doctor tells her she is incredibly lucky.

* * *

><p>She blinks twice, and tries to think of something other than how incredibly lucky she is, stuck in hospital alone, and when she opens her eyes again the shadows on the floor are cast by moonlight.<p>

Significant time has passed, measured by two factors: everything feels real again, and _hurts,_ again, so the pain relief that had enabled sleep will be due a top up soon. And there's another table in the room, to her left, covered in cards.

Squinting in the half light, Quinn feels like she can recognise some of the hand-writing, but the table is on the wrong side, so reaching them is out of the question.

She spends the next few hours, until early morning rounds, trying to figure out which token of concern matches the people in her life.

There are more than she can account for, despite her best efforts. It should be a comforting feeling, perhaps. Instead she just suffers a twinge of panic whenever she thinks about it.

* * *

><p>This time, when the nurse turns up with pain relief, she's on her guard, and tries really hard to stay with it, during visiting hours.<p>

* * *

><p>Dammit.<p>

She remembers her mom, during the day. There were some other people, talking to her in soft voices, but she cannot remember who. Just the lingering feeling that her hand was held almost continuously, by someone warm.

If Quinn managed to ask the relevant question, she doesn't remember the answer.

* * *

><p>Maybe she <em>is<em> brain damaged. That doctor, the one with the calm manner and the smooth face that Quinn increasingly finds she wants to smack, tells her that she isn't. Disorientation and the sensation of floating until just before she gets her next lot of drugs; that's normal. But brain damage would explain why, from what Quinn can gather, she's been awake on and off for about two days, and still knows _nothing_.

* * *

><p>She's told that the meds will start to be phased down, now, and that she'll probably feel increased discomfort. But Quinn has given birth, for god's sake, she's pretty sure she'll take the increased discomfort if it means she'll actually start remembering the conversations she has with people, rather than the vague, anonymous, half sentences that she has now, swirling around her thoughts and cluttering up her brain.<p>

'no harm done...'

'...how could you be so reckless...'

'she was in a complete mess...'

'...just sort it out, will you?'

* * *

><p>She knows what day it is. She hasn't lost any time so far. The nurse tells her that the questions she is asking are actually making sense now, so that's good. (God knows what she had been asking.)<p>

It does hurt though. Quinn grits her teeth, and watches the clock. Since she's been moved to another ward, visiting hours apparently start earlier.

Five minutes into visiting hours, nobody's turned up, and Quinn's crying. And the tissue box is just out of reach because she's still tied to the ceiling by her leg, like some god-damn broken puppet, and so she'll just have to let them roll.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes into visiting hours, someone does turn up.<p>

'Shit, what is this? Where've your happy meds gone?'

Of all the people that Quinn is okay with seeing her cry (and believe her; it's a short list), Puck is pretty much last.

Quinn scowls at him, and waves her good hand around in a gesture designed to encompass the whole _broken everything, trapped in a tiny room for eternity _situation, and Puck puts up a hand in what appears to be a concession that maybe she does have a few things on her plate at the moment, and reaches over to push the tissue box towards her.

'Sorry. Hello.'

Quinn yanks a tissue out of the box, and presses it under her eyes to protect her make-up, before remembering that she isn't wearing any, and probably looks like corpse. She balls it up after a moment, and throws it at Puck. He lets it bounce of his chest impassively, and then sits down, flicking it with his toe to the corner of the room.

Quinn groans, and pulls out another one.

'I can't believe, out of all the people, you are the first person I'm seeing after I wake up.'

Puck looks at her for a moment, and then makes a noise half way between a laugh and a gasp.

'Oh, man. You really were out of it on those other meds then. We all figured you must have been having some kind of out of body experience, but we thought you were, like, aware, that we'd been here. Shit Q, you've had at least two of us a day, and it's been three days since you woke up. Rachel's drawn up a _rota_, as well as her turning up every day. She's thinks she's practically best friends with the nurses. They all want to kill her, of course.'

Quinn purses her lips at him, because that sounds incredibly...predictable of Rachel, and sort of wonderful, at the same time. And then she feels a stab of anger, because Puck is Puck, and however much she needs to know things, she'll be damned if it is _Puck _that gets to see her weakness.

She latches on to a safe part of the conversation.

'A rota?'

Puck nods, and makes to reach for his phone, before hesitating.

'Yeah, I've got a copy, remind me to write it down for you, so you know who's coming when. That way you can pretend to be asleep, you know. If needed.'

Quinn nods, and then hesitates, unsure how to ask.

'What was I...saying? When you visited before.'

Puck scratches the back of his head, awkward, and Quinn nerves double.

'Uh, nothing bad. Except for the truck driver. Oh, and, what was it, 'which ever bastard keeps eating all the time around here.' That was a highlight. You said my name a lot, but apparently you were doing that for everyone. Umm. You talked about secrets a lot, and said they weren't for me, and so I wasn't to read your mind. You called Finn 'inappropriately tall, with sweaty hands', that was another good one. Basically, you were a riot. I'd have sat here all day listen to you ramble on. I need to figure out what they were giving you and where I can get me some, because that's a party I want to host.'

This sounds embarrassing, but not a total deal-breaker, but Quinn has to double check.

'So...nothing big then. Just stupid stuff?'

Puck shrugs, but doesn't quite meet her eye.

'Nope. I wasn't here all the time though, but nobody's reported anything completely crazy.'

Quinn nods, and looks away. After a moment, Puck reaches towards her, and squeezes the tips of her fingers, just once.

'Nice to have you back, Quinn. We were all pretty much passing out over you.'

Quinn doesn't know what to do with this information, so just smiles at him, once. Puck nods, and then jumps a bit in his chair, before leaping up and reaching for his back pocket.

'Oh man, I nearly forgot, look, I went around this morning, that's why I was a bit late...'

It's a card, and when Quinn manages to ease it open with her thumb, it says Get Well Soon, with a hedgehog on the front.

Inside it says, 'thinking of you, love Shelby and Beth.' The Beth is shaped out in spaced out dots which have largely been ignored, and over half the card there's a big scribble in a purple felt, and some smudged finger prints.

Puck's grinning at her like his face is going to split in two, and she's got no words really, beyond the obvious.

'Thank you.'

She's crying again. Puck leans over her, and presses a kiss to her forehead.

'Any time. And now, let me tell you about how I managed to break into your room at the dead of night with Beth in my arms and zero help from Santana, because when she turns up she'll tell you something completely different...'

* * *

><p>Puck writes the rota down on a piece of paper, torn off something that looked vaguely important.<p>

Quinn looks at it for a while, after he'd left, and then reaches awkwardly to her right, propping it up against the box of tissues.

And even then, once she's gotten bored of staring at the ceiling, or trying to read one of the magazines her mom had probably left for her, she finds herself drawn to it, cricking her neck around to double check she hasn't forgotten any of the list.

These people care about her. It's... a good feeling.

When the doctor comes back, Quinn smiles. And why not? She has friends.

The doctor doesn't smile, but just nods, and then looks at Quinn's legs in a way that makes the smile slip off her face, forgotten.

* * *

><p>Responsiveness tests aren't looking good.<p>

Quinn has never failed a test in her life.

Quinn could swear that the last time the doctor spoke to her about the fact that she can't actually feel much beyond the small of her back, the phrase had been 'almost certainly temporary paralysis.' And _almost certainly_ had been almost enough to allow her to not worry, allow her to float along, for a while.

'Probably only temporary' paralysis doesn't sound nearly as buoyant.

* * *

><p>Rachel's not on the rota. Puck had told her it was because she could just appear at anytime 'like a tiny ninja'. Puck had been under the impression this was so that Rachel could yell at anyone who was slacking off the rota.<p>

Quinn doesn't care why she was coming.

She just wants her here, now, wedding ring and all because there's no changing that anymore, to be deranged and loud and supportive and warm, and to tell her that of course her legs are going to wake up, because that's how this story ends.

She just wants her here.

* * *

><p>It's meant to be Sam next. She gets Santana instead.<p>

She was going to pray, with Sam, if he had come. Santana would sooner gargle arsenic, and Quinn feels herself close off a little, when Santana pulls up a chair and give her the once over.

'You're looking sane.'

Quinn answers flatly.

'You're looking nothing like Sam.'

Santana clucks, and looks over at her table.

'Puck gave you the list then. He told me you weren't as wacked out on the drugs. And I told Sam to not come.'

Quinn glares at her witheringly.

'I'd have preferred Sam.'

Santana waves a hand dismissively.

'Whatever, I know you want to see me, you kept grinning at me like an idiot when you were on planet loony. In between telling me that I had to break up Finn and Rachel.'

Quinn feels the blood drain out of her face.

'I was rambling.'

'Maybe. But it was a fairly repetitive ramble. That I got, and Brittany got. Brittany says...well, lots of stuff about secret body talk, but in essence she says it's because you want Rachel. I'm inclined to agree.'

It feels like a slap.

'Don't be ridiculous.'

'Oh yes, crazy. I'm mean, it's not like you've been obsessed with her for the last three years, or you're permanently frustrated by the fact that she seems to orbit Finn like one of Jupiter's moons, or you tried to get her to call the wedding off because that's not how her future should go, or you almost got yourself killed getting to her wedding. None of that happened, did it?'

Her breathing has gone funny, and she sort of wants to point at her legs and yell 'only _probably_ not paralyzed', in the hopes that Santana will back off, but any sign of weakness feels like a risk, so she goes for point blank.

'Fuck you.'

Santana smiles sweetly.

'And fuck you too, for thinking that me and Brit weren't worth mentioning any of this to. Shit Q, did you think we'd judge you? Us? Did you think you'd get some kind of reward in heaven, for keeping it locked up in your head and hiding from it?'

If she was herself, a year ago, it'd be about now when Santana would be thrown against a wall. As it is, and who she is, Quinn can only look away.

'You're insane. This is all entirely irrelevant. And I'd like you to leave.'

Santana just stares at her, as Quinn fights not to hyperventilate, and then sits back in her chair and folds her arms.

'You're never going to be happy until you go for the things that make you happy. This is tough love, by the way. Kurt explained it to me. I means, I get to be a bitch to you because I know I'm right.'

'Fuck off, Santana.'

'I know I'm right. And this isn't irrelevant.'

'I couldn't give a shit what you think is irrelevant or relevant. Fuck off.'

Santana shrugs.

'Well, this has been nice. Real glad I came. Real glad I spent nearly all my days here, when you were in bits. I'm sure you'd do the same.'

The thing is, maybe she would, but she's not in bits anymore, and neither is Santana, and she just really needs to figure out how the hell she is going to convince Brittany to not tell everyone about her suspicions, so Santana can pretty much just go now.

Santana makes a big production out of sliding the chair away, and checking that she's got everything, whilst Quinn stares resolutely at the wall. In the doorway, Santana pauses.

'Want to hear about Rachel?'

Yes, she thinks.

'No.'

'Want to hear about how she wouldn't leave until I forcibly ejected her from the hospital grounds?'

Yes. 'No.'

'Want to hear about why she wouldn't get married?'

What? Quinn looks at Santana, who grins.

'Just stop being such a frozen up bitch, admit that maybe Brittany's right, because she's always right, and you can hear all about it.'

Quinn heart thuds oddly in her chest, and the next question is breathed, rather than spoken.

'She didn't get married?'

Santana just smirks at her, and saunters back into the room to pull the chair over again.

'Just work on the basis that I've already figured out your super secret emotions over Rachel Berry, and you can hear all about it, and this conversation will be far easier. Is or isn't Brittany correct?'

She hates her.

* * *

><p>When Santana leaves, it is with a look.<p>

'You can trust us, you know. We're not telling anyone.'

Quinn breathes a little easier.

* * *

><p>It's enough, for a few hours, to know that Rachel Berry isn't married, to push everything else out of her head.<p>

And then she remembers about her legs, and the _probably not_, and part of her can't help but wonder if this is the riposte, for Quinn doing something as unreasonable as wanting a person she'd never planned for.

_But then_ she remembers that it wasn't exactly a choice, but rather a realisation. She woke up one day and realised that she couldn't remember a time when she didn't hold the thought of Rachel Berry close to her heart, when Rachel hadn't been something close to a dream and a nightmare and a promise and a hope, all wrapped up into one.

And the God that she believes in wouldn't give a punishment for something a person couldn't help, and this is just it. She has no _choice_ about Rachel Berry. There is no other option.

So maybe this was a sign. A reminder, maybe. That life is fragile, and _hoping_ for a happy ending sometimes isn't enough.

Sometimes happy endings need making.

* * *

><p>Her mom visits.<p>

Her mom says she'll pray for her.

* * *

><p>It's dusk, give or take. When Rachel comes around the corner.<p>

And she's so grateful, right now, because she knows that Rachel's words will just fill up the space automatically. Quinn's shy.

'Hi Rachel.'

Rachel lights up, positively looks thrilled, and Quinn can't help but squeeze back, when Rachel takes a seat and then takes her hand, as if it is the most natural thing in the whole world.

'Oh, oh, Santana had told me that you were feeling better, but I didn't expect you to be... hello! Hi. Oh wow, you're...this is really good, Quinn! You're awake. Brittany kept saying that it was like you were dreaming before, and couldn't quite wake up, but this is... quick, how many fingers am I holding up?'

'Forty seven.'

Rachel drops her hand quickly, and frowns,

'No, that's not right... oh. You were joking?'

She was, apparently. Quinn has no idea what came over her, but doesn't really need to explain herself because Rachel's smiling at her with eyes that are full of tears, and it's enough to convince her that everything will be okay, maybe (probably).

* * *

><p>She's never talked to Rachel like this before.<p>

Not about things that don't really matter, like how Beth is clearly going to be an artist when she's older, and why hospital coffee tastes a thousand times more horrible than any other form of coffee.

Thinking back, all her and Rachel had ever talked about before had been the really big topics, discussions about hearts and futures and the various ways in which they could be broken.

Now Rachel's trying to curl up on a plastic chair, and looking happy and relaxed and comfortable, and all the emotions that Quinn has seen in Rachel before, but always directed towards someone other than her.

And she doesn't even want to think about what could have motivated the switch, (though she has her suspicions) but instead just watches, as Rachel waves her hands around and tells Quinn about her day as if it is literally the most interesting thing that Quinn could hear.

Which is sort of is.

Rachel shifts again, and Quinn wants to move up on the bed, and let Rachel sit next to her, and maybe let Rachel hold her hand some more. But she can't, because movement isn't really her forte at the moment, and with that thought a flicker of mute terror curls in her stomach.

It must show on her face, because Rachel moves closer, and Quinn finds herself saying it out loud.

'The doctors, they aren't sure... my legs. I should be feeling more apparently, by now.'

Quinn waves a feeble hand in their direction, and when she looks at Rachel she wishes she hadn't said anything, because Rachel's eyes are brimming with tears.

Automatically, she backtracks. She's done with making Rachel cry.

'It'll be fine, I'm sure. I just want to be out of here as soon as possible, so I can stop drinking that horrible coffee.'

Quinn grins weakly, and watches as Rachel rubs the space on her ring finger, which is the perfect shade of empty. Rachel blinks rapidly, and a few tears fall.

'Oh, god Quinn...I'm so sorry.'

Quinn registers what Rachel is saying after a moment, and that wasn't the aim, at all.

'Rach, it's not, there's no blame, it's just, oh, come here.'

She actually does shift over, as best she can, and there's space just, for Rachel to perch on the edge of her bed. Quinn runs her hand over Rachel's shoulder and down her arm, and then reaches for a tissue, gently nudging it into Rachel's hand.

Rachel's lip wobbles, and Quinn has to fight, not to give herself up completely.

'I was supposed to be making you feel better, not the other way around.'

Quinn doesn't mind. She thinks, from the way her chest clenches, and her sudden almost overwhelming need for two arms so she can hug, that she might quite like making Rachel feel better.

'It's true, though. This isn't anyone's fault. It definitely isn't yours.'

Rachel tries for a smile, and looks over at her.

'You called me Rach before. When you were on the other drugs.'

Quinn rolls her eyes, and fights a blush.

'When I wasn't with it, you mean.'

Rachel laughs weakly, and wipes the tissue underneath her eyes.

'I quite liked it. I mean, I'm glad you're you again, but it was kind of...cute, watching you grin at everything, and then frown like you'd just forgotten your own name, and then double check whether I was married again.'

Okay, now she is blushing, and tries to hide it with an arched eyebrow.

'And, you're not, right?'

Rachel ducks her head, and smiles softly. Quinn's watching her lips, now, the way they shape to form her favorite sentence.

'No. I'm not married.'

Quinn just grins, and _god_, she wishes she was just a fraction braver.


	8. Chapter 8

**Rachel POV. Apologies to anyone who thought we'd be waist deep in fluff from here on in. A few things have to be dealt with. Thank you to those reading and reviewing, it's always good to know what people have enjoyed etc :)**

* * *

><p>It's a wonderful day.<p>

Granted, this is night time now, but nevertheless, it is wonderful. A wonderful night. The nurse's station is wonderful, Betty the wonderful nurse is looking wonderful, the floor of the corridor looks so wonderful Rachel sort of wants to cartwheel down it, _everything_ is wonderful.

Because Quinn is Quinn again.

Rachel had prepared a list, of possible emotions she could feel once Quinn's heavier meds had been phased out, and she started behaving as herself. It had been quite a complex project, because there had been the possibility of Quinn being angry, or bitter, or mournful, or any of the other emotions it would be perfectly reasonable to feel if you'd just woken from a car crash to discover you were trapped in a hospital with a question mark over the speed and extent of the recovery.

And Rachel had wanted to be prepared, and so had mapped out every eventuality, and tried to imagine each one, and the battering her heart would have to take as a consequence. She'd sat up all hours, (she may have had just a little trouble sleeping, ever since Quinn had grinned at her, in her drug addled state, and murmured that Rachel was far too perfect for Finn) and imagined all the possible ways in which this could go wrong.

Rachel hadn't anticipated wonderful.

She honestly hadn't considered how it would feel, to know that Quinn had been looking forward to seeing her, and that Quinn would still call her Rach, and that they could talk about such wonderful things as crappy coffee, and whether Rachel would mind making a playlist of the songs that Glee were working on while Quinn was hospitalized, so Quinn would know what she was missing.

She thinks she may explode, just pop from the overwhelming amount of just one glorious emotion coursing through her. But she can't, because Rachel said she'd go back early tomorrow, and oh, she'd bring a camp bed if she thought the nurses would let her.

Her daddy is waiting for her in the car park, and Rachel pretty much just throws herself into his arms. She may well have squealed. She cannot be sure. Regardless, she cannot be held responsible for her actions, at this point.

He laughs, and pats her on the back.

'Quinn back to herself then?'

Rachel squeezes once, extra tight, and then releases him.

'Yes! She's still her, daddy.'

And it is wonderful.

* * *

><p>When Rachel gets home, she needs to tell someone.<p>

She stares at her contacts list for a while, but there's no one who will do, exactly. Because how to do you tell someone that the most astonishing conversation of your life just happened, but it wasn't so much about what was said (nothing significant) but rather the feeling that neither of you would prefer to be speaking to anybody else? Not in this moment, nor if the moment was replayed a hundred times over.

She settles for Kurt.

'Kurt! Kurt. She's awake, actually awake, and normal, and showing no sign of any mental ill effects, which as you know was a significant concern of mine, and we talked, and it was so lovely, Kurt! It was lovely. Quinn is... Quinn is looking a great deal better, and I had to tell someone before I exploded. Kurt?'

Rachel checks her phone screen quickly to see if the call was still connected, but there's no problem there, it is just that Kurt isn't talking.

'Kurt?'

When Kurt does speak, he sounds...weary, is the best word Rachel can think of, and she immediately feels guilty for just diving in with no introduction.

'That sounds...great, Rachel.'

'Umm, it is. But how's things with you?'

Kurt just sighs, and Rachel can tell he's gathering his thoughts, and she automatically sits down on the bed, unsure where this is going.

'I'm... Finn isn't great, Rachel. He's still really upset. He cried at the breakfast table today when he realised that the cereal he eats is vegan friendly. And he keeps asking me to speak to you, or asking me what he's done wrong, and I have...no idea what to say to him.'

Rachel can feel her lungs expanding and settling in an unnatural pattern, and she isn't sure whether it is fear, guilt, or something else entirely.

'I...I've told him, Kurt. We were rushing things, we're far too young, and marriage should be about certainty. Doubt free.'

Kurt's tone isn't quite cold, but it is challenging, at least.

'Yes, Rachel, and I get that, but it isn't exactly the full story, is it? And you only told him that the marriage is off, but you are acting like everything is off. I'm trying to be impartial, I am, but the only word he's had from you is on the group email that you sent to everyone telling us when we had to be at Quinn's bedside.'

Rachel tries gather herself, to interrupt, but she doesn't know what with. Kurt continues after a moment.

'Honey, I know, okay? I get it. Quinn's been on everyone's minds, and you've been...really focused on that. But now that she's improving, do you not think that maybe Finn deserves a bit of your attention? This is the boy you were set on marrying, ten days ago.'

Rachel flinches at that.

'I was never... I was set Kurt, but I was never certain.'

'Regardless, Rachel. You were set enough, he was certain enough. Quinn's got lots of people going to see her. Finn had two really big, terrible things happen to him. One of his friends nearly died, and his relationship has broken down. You're behaving like only one terrible thing has happened to you.'

She doesn't know what to say. This is all worse because Kurt is right, she knows he's right, she's just been really good at ignoring it, so far. Kurt must have sensed what she was thinking, because his voice does soften, finally.

'Rachel. There's nothing wrong with what you're feeling. If I was there, I'd be hugging you. I'm not angry with you. But there is something wrong, maybe, with how you are prioritising people, right now. Finn deserves a bit more of an explanation from you, right now. At least so he can start getting it together.'

Rachel sniffs once, and curls her fingers in the bedsheets.

'I know, it's just... Quinn's legs aren't working like they should. Not yet.'

Kurt sighs again, and then tuts at her.

'And that is really scary, I know. But is your being by her bedside going to speed up the healing process, Rachel? Do you not think that maybe, a few hours with Finn would be good, before you rush to her side, again.'

She feels sick.

'I know Kurt, I was just saying... there are more important things, sometimes, that Finn Hudson's feelings.'

Rachel wants to take it back, the second she says it, but it's out there now. Kurt goes very quiet for a moment, and then his voice is even, calm.

'I'm going to presume you are under a lot of emotion stress at the moment, because Rachel Berry would never normally be so cold. I'll be going. Just... have a think Rachel, about whether you are currently putting your own feelings before everyone else's. Have a good evening.'

* * *

><p>Her heart feels like is it going to splinter, from the pressure placed on it by her alternating moods. Her dads give her vegan icecream and soft words, but things are horrible. She is horrible.<p>

She doesn't even know if she can tell Finn the truth, because she isn't sure what the truth is. Quinn is at the top of her thoughts, and has been ever since they got word of the accident, but Rachel doesn't know if that makes it _real_, because nothing's felt real, not since the possibility of Quinn not being alive crawled its way into her head and wrapped itself around her mind.

Is a couple of month's worth of repressed infatuation, plus ten days of feeling like nothing else matters except the girl lying in a hospital bed, enough of a foundation to tell Finn she's never going to feel the same, about him?

She's a coward, she realizes.

* * *

><p>It almost breaks her, how hopeful Finn sounds, when Rachel calls him early the next morning and suggests they go for a walk.<p>

And then she remembers that she's the one doing the breaking, and she isn't allowed the luxury of feeling terrible, because she's the one who's breaking Finn's heart.

* * *

><p>It's sunny.<p>

Finn's looking like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, or any of his limbs, when he meets her outside his house. She waves, once, to settle how they should greet each other, and Finn follows suit, and then hesitates.

God, she can tell he's made a really big effort to try and look good. He's paid extra attention to his hair, and his shirt is actually ironed.

Rachel doesn't know how she is supposed to do this, because she cares. She does. You don't nearly marry someone if you don't care about them, and want them to be happy.

She smiles gently.

'Hi Finn.'

Finn lights up, literally looks like he's going to bounce down the street rather than walk, just because she smiled at him.

'Hi. You look lovely. I've missed seeing you.'

She's a terrible person.

* * *

><p>They walk in a circle, increasing outwards one block at a time, never getting too far from Finn's house.<p>

Finn's talking in a manner that makes Rachel suspect he's planned out possible topics of conversation, so there doesn't have to be any silence, so Rachel doesn't have an opportunity to talk about anything significant.

He's careful to ask about Quinn, to listen carefully to Rachel's words. Rachel doesn't quite tell him about the question mark over her spine, because it feels like Quinn's call on who knows that, not hers. She knows she shouldn't have mentioned it to Kurt.

And just like that, Rachel spots where her loyalties lie. And it's enough, to help her decide. She's still a horrible person, but she has a steady foundation, at least, for what she's about to do.

'Finn. We... the wedding.'

Finn off, before Rachel can really gather what she has to say, and this sounds like a well practised speech.

'It's cool Rachel. I'm sorry for asking you to marry me when we're both super young. It doesn't matter whether or not we get married right now. We have plenty of time to figure it out. Look at my mom and Burt, they're like, the best married people I know. So if we don't get married right now that's totally okay, unless you want to, in which case that's good too. But, whatever you want, yeah. As long as you aren't mad at me. As long as we can still be happy.'

Crash and burn. She's needs to be brave. Finn deserves bravery.

'Finn... I don't want to get married.'

Finn's nodding his head that's completely not a problem for him at all, as if Rachel has just turned down his suggestion to get see a movie involving robots, and Rachel has to be a bit clearer.

'I...we are too young. To know what we want. And, I thought I was really certain, about everything I wanted. And, I guess I still am, but things have changed, Finn. Things have to change.'

Finn doesn't say anything, just flicks at a stone and makes it skip down the sidewalk ahead of them, and Rachel can tell that he's just waiting, for the next positive thing to come out of her mouth.

'I am certain that you are one of the most important people in my life.'

It's kind of hopeless, how Finn brightens and appears to cling to this, like he is drowning and it is a much needed lifeline.

'That's really good Rachel, because you are important to me. Really important. You're like, one of my favourite people. In my top three.'

Rachel nods, distractedly, and she's a bitch, she's a complete bitch.

Finn looks like he starts panicking, when her eyes fill with tears, and reaches towards her, before dropping his arms back to his sides.

'I'm, I'm really certain that I want to be friends with you Finn. I'll always want to be friends with you, because you're such a kind, decent guy Finn. You're really special.'

Finn's face starts closing down, and it's horrific, really, how well she knows him, how well she can read his emotions.

'But. But, I don't think we should be together, any more. I don't think...I don't feel right. I wouldn't feel right, being with you, anymore.'

He goes really still, and silent, until it is just them, staring at each other on the sidewalk, with the sun beating down and the birds singing. Rachel can't take it anymore, has to get it over, one way or another.

'I'm so sorry.'

She just breathes it, and Finn must read the message in her eyes, rather than hear it, because he takes a step back from her.

'You... you're saying this is over? Not just wedding over, but we are over?'

Rachel nods, and Finn looks up at the sky for a long moment.

'But. Rachel. We... I love you. And, nothing's changed. So... I don't get it.'

Rachel looks away down the street, but that's the coward's option, so she drags her gaze back to the boy who's falling to pieces.

'I don't feel like that Finn. I'm sorry. I care so much about you, but...'

Finn explodes.

'How? How is this you caring about me? How can you just stand there and say all this Rachel? You can't just... none of this is making any sense! People don't just go from marrying each other to breaking up!'

Rachel feels like they must. She can't have invented this scenario. She can't be the only person in the world to leave it until the last minute to realise what they want, no matter how much Finn stares at her like two plus two have stopped equalling four.

'It's...Finn. I can't explain, not really. I just know I'm not going to marry you. We can't be together. It wouldn't be fair.'

Finn laughs at the word fair, and looks up and down the street as if appealing for witnesses.

'Fair? This is the fair version? Jeez Rachel, that's fucking great. Thank you, for all your care and concern.'

She reaching to him now, trying to placate, even though she knows that's not allowed.

'Finn...'

Finn jerks his arm away from his hand, and stares at her like he has no idea who she is. And then he's running, leaving Rachel on the sidewalk, trying to figure out when she allowed this to happen.

* * *

><p>Rachel's kind of glad, when she gets home, that her dads aren't in. She doesn't deserve sympathy, or gentle eyes and soothing touches.<p>

She has a message on her phone, after she gets out of the shower, that she almost can't bring herself to read, that stays unread until she's dried and brushed through her hair.

It's from Kurt.

_You aren't a bad person Rachel. Finn will realise that, eventually._

It hurts, how the sobs rip from her chest.

She cries, for what they might have been.

* * *

><p>She gets a bus to hospital.<p>

Rachel knows this is almost another betrayal, almost the type of thing a bad person would do, a selfish person would do. But she also knows that the only thing that'll take her mind off the guilt clawing at her insides is the smile on Quinn face when Rachel turns up.

And she had said she'd visit. This morning, in fact. She's late. She's just honoring her promise.

Not a betrayal.

* * *

><p>The nurse tells her that there is someone else already with Quinn, 'a polite lad in a wheelchair', but she's more than welcome to join the party.<p>

Rachel almost doesn't, because Quinn doesn't need to see how sad Rachel is, (she knows she isn't that good an actor) but maybe does need to speak to Artie, and try and process what is happening with her legs, and what could happen next. There are things in Quinn's life that are more important than how dreadful Rachel is feeling, and how maybe Quinn is the only person who can make her feel better.

She walks towards Quinn's room anyway, on auto-pilot.

Quinn and Artie are talking in low voices, and Quinn's room looks emptier, for some reason. Rachel realises a couple of the machines have been removed, and Quinn's leg in no longer hauled up high, but resting on the bed, next to the other one.

Quinn sees her, after a moment, and looks at her like Rachel is a wonderful person, the type of person Rachel knows she isn't, not anymore.

Quinn waves, waggles her hand at her in a gesture that is so dorky and so not in-keeping with the restrained Quinn that Rachel thought she knew, throughout school, that Rachel could almost swear she can feel her heart turn over in her chest, slowly.

And then she bursts into tears. Not even graceful, silent ones, but big, horrific, embarrassing ones.

Artie wheels himself backwards quickly, and murmurs a goodbye to Quinn, but Quinn doesn't even seem to notice it, because she's too busy looking like she'd happily murder someone for the ability to get up and check that Rachel is okay, and _god_, why is it that she has to be such a drama queen? Why can't she learn to have the slightest grip on reality, and not make the things that happen in her life the most important things in the world for _everyone?_

* * *

><p>She really doesn't want to talk about it. Rachel feels like she must have used up her allowance for being selfish for the next decade or so, and dodges all of Quinn's questions about why she is so upset, and instead tries to ask about the progress, and whether Quinn is happy that her leg is no longer up in the air.<p>

Quinn hands her tissue after tissue, and answers in quick, short answers whilst looking at Rachel as if she is completely insane, which she sort of feels like she is, at this moment.

'Yes, Rachel, I've said. Leg came down this morning. Slight improvement on the responsiveness tests, but nothing to celebrate yet. I can feel pressure, but haven't got any control yet. And now can you please explain what is going on? Or at least promise to reimburse me for the tissues you're going through?'

It is meant to be a joke, an attempt to lighten the mood, but Rachel hasn't got the emotional reserves to play along, and just balls a tissue in her hands whilst looking at the floor, making an attempt to drag herself together.

When she looks back at Quinn, her face has fallen again, and she looks scared.

'It isn't... it isn't something from NYADA, is it?'

And now Rachel feels terrible all over again, because of course Quinn would think Rachel is so obsessed with her own career that she wouldn't be able to keep it together for a brief period during visiting hours.

'No, it's...nothing to do with that.'

'Right, so...'

Quinn looks at a loss, and Rachel has to do this, clearly, but doesn't know how to without giving Quinn the full story, she can't do that yet, not while she doesn't know what the full story is. Not while Quinn has enough on her plate without Rachel accusing her of being impossibly perfect and confusing and the reason that the future she'd carefully constructed for herself is no more.

A half way truth, maybe.

'Me and Finn. We've called it off. Totally.'

Quinn's face looks like about sixteen emotions fight for dominance, and then after a brief second it smoothes out entirely.

'Oh. That's... I'm sorry about that Rachel.'

It's almost killing her, the need to explain, but the only explanation that will do is the one that starts with _I can't stop thinking about you_, and that feels a bit much, at this point, despite the truth to it.

'It's just, it is really hard, doing that to him. I do really care about him, about how he feels. He's a really decent guy.'

Quinn's hand inches towards her, before it seems that Quinn changes her mind, and runs a hand through her hair, instead.

'You... you ended it with him?'

Rachel nods, and stretches her fingers towards Quinn's sheets, trying to stroke away a wrinkle.

'I just... things didn't feel right. Hadn't felt right for a while, if I'm honest with myself. Which is why I'm so... why you're having to put up with all these tears. I've treated him horribly. I'm a terrible person.'

Quinn's hand comes down from her hair, and rest gently on top of Rachel's fingers.

'You're not a terrible person. And... I'm sure you were as careful as you could be, with his feelings. You're never nasty, Rachel. You must... you have a really good reason for doing it.'

She does. Really good. But Rachel avoids the enquiry.

'Thank you, by the way.'

Quinn frowns, puzzled, and god, she's like a never ending reserve of beautiful moments.

'What for?'

'Not saying 'I told you so.' I mean, I'm sure you wouldn't, but you did pretty much tell me that I shouldn't marry him, that I was the type of person who'd always want to leave my future wide open.'

Rachel watches as Quinn shifts, awkwardly, and she's aware, all of a sudden, how much smaller Quinn looks, without the hoist, how much more fragile, in a strange way.

'I'd never..., I think it is for the best Rachel, but that doesn't mean I'm not sorry that you are so sad, that it's over. You're obviously hurting.'

Rachel doesn't know what she is, but she does know that Finn must be hurting, and it makes her reach for the tissue box again.

'Yeah...I'd just, never imagined this, I guess. I never thought I could be so certain about something, and then change my mind so quickly. It makes me feel like...I can never be certain about anything. About the things I want.'

Quinn bites her lip, and looks down at the sheets, and Rachel done now, with this self-involved ramble that is nothing compared to the things that Quinn has to deal with. She wipes at her eyes, and makes a concerted effort to look like she has retained at least some of her marbles.

'Anyway! Anyway, enough about the constant disaster that is my love-life. Tell me properly about the leg situation, and this time I'll actually listen rather than crying throughout.'

Quinn smiles softly and shrugs the shoulder that is available to her.

'Well, it came down this morning, they gave me some morphine for the movement, so in a way it probably good you didn't turn up, because I think I went a bit funny again. And they're talking about getting me in a wheelchair in the next couple of days, which'll be good because these walls are driving me crazy.'

Rachel grins, and grabs Quinn's hand without thinking and squeezes.

'That's great Quinn. I can show you around hospital. I can take you downstairs, and you can give the canteen a serious talking to about the substandard quality of their coffee.'

Quinn rolls her eyes at her, before smiling half-heartedly and looking away.

'Sure, Rach. Maybe.'

The way Quinn says maybe makes Rachel review her actions, and of course Quinn is a little bit angry with her, a little bit cold, because this is clearly a big step on Quinn's road to recovery, and Rachel just blubbered through it like a kid who'd just been told that their pet had died.

Rachel looks at their hands, and then rubs a small circle with her thumb onto the backs of Quinn's fingers in a silent apology.

'Are you saying you do not trust my driving abilities? I'll have you know I'm very co-ordinated, despite whatever evidence to the contrary you are planning to cite.'

Quinn actually laughs that time, and whatever weird mood Rachel has managed to drag into the room with her dissipates, at least for the moment.


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi... Brittany next. This may even be bordering on angsty Brittany. IDK.**

* * *

><p>Brittany doesn't get it.<p>

She presses two fingers to both her thinking spots, and squints at Quinn. After a moment, Quinn frowns at her.

'What?'

'These are my thinking spots. If I press here, my brain is more energetic.'

Quinn blinks at her a lot, and then clears her throat.

'They're called your temples, Brittany.'

'Oh, I know, but I'm not religious, so that's their secular name. Thinking spots.'

Quinn doesn't follow, clearly, but Brittany's got bigger fish to fry, and so can't waste time explaining. Instead she circles three times and really concentrates on what Quinn has just told her.

She doesn't get it.

'I don't get it.'

'Brittany...' Quinn looks away from her, and shuffles half heartedly at the counters in front of her. 'I don't really want to talk about it. And it is your go.'

Brittany removes her fingers from her thinking spots, places a counter without looking, and reapplies finger pressure.

'I just don't get it though, and this is supposed to be my area of expertness. Are you sure there aren't any hidden cameras in here that I could watch? I feel like this would make more sense if I could watch how this conversation went.'

'Brittany...I've told you how the conversation went. There are no hidden cameras. I don't want to talk about it. And... how have you beaten me again?'

Brittany shrugs.

'It's only Connect Four. I realised that the trick is paying attention to the difference between the red ones and the yellow ones.'

Quinn looks a little bit lost, but Brittany's not going to surrender her winning streak that easily, and so flips open the bottom so the counters clatter out. After a moment's reflection, she picks up two red counters, and presses those to her thinking spots, to see if it helps.

It doesn't.

'Quinn, I'm going to list. You won't like it, but you're legs are still broken so I can run away if necessary. I don't want to run though, so can I list? Please?'

Quinn does this thing with her eyebrows that used to make Puck turn into poultry, but Brittany's got to be methodical, so Quinn is just going to have to tough this out.

'Rachel was crying. Because she broke up with Finn.'

Quinn nods once, but Brittany isn't finished.

'She broke up with Finn because she wanted to not be with him. Because she thought she wanted him but now she doesn't.'

Quinn nods again, and Brittany briefly considers drawing some kind of diagram, so she can keep track.

'And so Rachel was crying because she was sad, because she felt bad, because she made Finn feel bad _and_ sad, but this meant that you also felt sad, because if Rachel feels bad over Finn it means she still likes him, and this means... what exactly?'

Brittany knows Quinn is totally better, going to be completely one hundred percent fine, from the way in which Quinn glares at her, in a refreshing blast from the past.

'Brittany. Rachel and Finn are... I don't know what they are, but Rachel cares about him enough to cry. And...therefore...she probably hasn't even thought about me, and that makes me feel...horrible...because...'

Quinn actually does trail off at this point, and Brittany eventually reaches for the piece of paper she'd had to prepare earlier on in the visit, because Quinn had kept getting stuck on saying the phrase out loud, but this phrase needed to be said every now and then or Brittany got lost in a sea of confusion soup.

She holds up the sign that says _Quinn likes Rachel Berry (likes as in likes likes, not as in just a friend, but that would be good also, too.)_ Quinn waves a hand at it vaguely, and sighs.

'Yes. That.'

Brittany looks at the sign momentarily, and honestly, she should have just written _Quinn loves Rachel Berry_, because that is all she is getting, loud and clear, but maybe Quinn would have had a small heart attack, and that wouldn't be good, despite their proximity to defibrillators.

Anyway.

'I get that, I think. I mean, all of it up to the therefore. But, if Rachel has broken up with him, and the first person she comes to tell is you, and she cries and holds your hand and becomes the wobbly jellyfish of woe that she is when she is sad, maybe...'

Maybe, what? Maybe Rachel ends things with Finn because Quinn confuses her? Maybe Rachel constructed a graph of awesomeness of Quinn compared to awesomeness of Finn, and realised that Quinn is like, way awesome, and also can dance? Maybe... Brittany doesn't know. Her brain hurts. She doesn't get why Quinn has decided this is a disaster and worth doing Quinn crying over, which is when she cries inside and the only tears anyone sees are the angry looks she gives everyone.

Brittany wonders whether this is the moment to bring up the conversation she had with Rachel in the library, before the crash, about how Rachel was doing a lot of...umm... "thinking", about Quinn. But then she spots that Rachel would probably not appreciate that, and so goes back to pressing her thinking spots.

Quinn's looking at her funny.

'What?'

'Brittany, what on earth were you just thinking about? You just grinned to yourself and air-quoted without speaking.'

Crap.

'No I didn't. There was a, umm, fly. I caught it with my fingers.'

Brittany feels like Quinn may not have totally bought that, but she drops it anyway. And Brittany hates this, because Quinn's looking really sad and small and broken, but Brittany's gut tells her that Quinn should be really pleased, and looking forward to seeing Rachel, and maybe figuring out the logistics of how to get Rachel close enough so she can kiss her.

Maybe that'll be the solution.

'Quinn, if you really do...' Brittany hold up the sign, and Quinn closes her eyes in response, but Brittany presses on undeterred, 'maybe you should just kiss her? And, see what she says?'

This is like, way complicated now, because Brittany knows what Rachel would say, probably something like _you lips taste divine and you make me want to kiss you forever, even if that means I'll never get to sing loudly ever again,_ but Brittany has to pretend that she doesn't know this, and when Brittany wins an Oscar, she's going to thank Rachel for putting her into such a challenging acting position, because everything else will surely be easy, after this.

Can heads, like, pop, from complicated-ness?

Quinn looks at her, all sad still.

'Things don't get solved through just kissing people to find out how they feel, normally Brit. You and San were a fairly unique situation. And, I'm pretty sure Rachel is too wrapped up in the Finn business to want to be kissed by anyone, let alone me.'

Brittany doesn't know what weird word game Quinn is playing here, because surely there isn't a person in the world who would react negatively to being kissed by Quinn, but the confusion soup is extra murky right now, so Brittany strikes out for shore.

'Maybe... do you want me to ask her if she wants to be kissed by you? That way I can feedback to you before you press her up against a piano and kiss her senseless?'

Quinn managing to blush, roll her eyes, look panicked _and_ vaguely irritated, which is pretty impressive.

'_No_, Brittany. No. You can't say anything to Rachel, she'll stop visiting. And...I'd miss her. You can't tell anyone. Santana already knows, speak to her if you must, but no-one else, understood?'

Oh, _god._ Not another secret. Brittany tries, if only for the sake of her own sanity.

'I really think that Rachel wouldn't be that bothered Quinn, if you liked her. She might...like you back?'

Quinn locks down, and frowns at her, and Brittany can tell that they are done talking about this.

'We're done, Brittany. Ask me something else.'

Okay, then.

'When you get your wheel chair, will you let me push you around? I'm a bit of a pro with Artie, and I feel like you are going to be even more aero-dynamic.'

At the look on Quinn face, Brittany feels the need to offer some reassurance.

'If I promise not to kill you, or anyone else, that is.'

* * *

><p>Santana might get it.<p>

'San... why is Quinn sad that Rachel is sad that she made Finn feel sad?'

Santana puts down her drink really carefully, and frowns at Brittany.

'I think I might need some extra words to go with your question, B.'

Ugh, Brittany hates it when people need extra words. Usually Santana is really good at filling in the gaps, but like, Brittany knows what she means, because she was there and had the conversation and saw how Quinn's eyes alternated from really sad to deliberately feeling nothing every two seconds, but she's never very good at mapping it out to other people.

Luckily, Santana's already had some of this conversation with Quinn, so catches up pretty quickly, part way through Brittany's explanation.

'Ohhh, yeah, got you. It's, well it is basically a result of Quinn being a stone cold ice queen bitch for a couple of years – she's managed to convince herself that nobody really likes her. Not really.'

Lies. That's lies.

'But, we like her, and Puck likes her, and Sam, and Finn when he isn't breaking up with her, and like, everyone in Glee club, and that isn't including Rachel, who both likes and _likes _likes her, which is super convenient, and a neat conclusion, no?'

Santana waves a hand at her.

'Yes, yes, we know that, everyone knows that, except the Rachel stuff, that's still a select group so you still have to tell _no one, _okay, but Quinn doesn't get that. She's... she doesn't understand why people would like her. She thinks we all still remember cyborg-uber bitch Quinn.'

Oh. Brittany lies back on the bed, and stretches her legs towards the ceiling, partly because she feels like she is going to cramp up, and partly because she likes how Santana's face goes all funny and her eyes have to fight really hard to not look at Brittany's legs.

'Why don't we just tell her then? We could like, tell her that everyone thinks she's pretty cool and special and sane, now she isn't always looking at people like she is planning a messy death for us, and then maybe Quinn would start thinking like a normal person, and realise Rachel is doing really complicated secret body language that translates into something like 'I have just realized that you are perfect for me, and am waiting to mount you at the earliest opportunity?'

Santana laughs, which is good, and then gets up from the chair, and strolls over towards Brittany's bed in the secret walk that secretly means 'I would be super available for sex right now, if that is cool with you.'

Which is totally is. Brittany shuffles over, and maintains her casual face, because sometimes things are more fun if she doesn't tell Santana she can pretty much just read her mind. Santana lies down on her front next to her, and then props her chin up with a palm.

'Not our job, B. As much as just telling Quinn what is going on would be damn easy and deeply satisfying, Quinn's got to figure it out. And Berry has got to find a way to broadcast this, rather than just finding ways to heap extra misery on someone who is legitimately already feeling crappy.'

Santana's totally not impressed with Rachel. And like, Brittany's sort of not really that cool with what Rachel did, timing-wise. Because if someone is really sad, and stuck in hospital, and you're the person they look forward to seeing the most each day, maybe turning up and crying a bucket over your ex-boyfriend isn't that awesome.

She gets _that, _though. Rachel's like a time bomb of emotion. Sometimes she just goes off.

Brittany rolls onto her side and runs a hand down the length of Santana's back, trying to make her de-angry. Santana hums and stretches underneath her in the way that always reminds Brittany of Lord Tubbington, but she isn't allowed to mention that because last time she did Santana didn't speak to Lord Tubbington for a week, which had been really awkward.

'Rachel has to drop clues, huh? And Quinn has to detect them. This could take forever San. I'll get bored.'

'Might not take forever, though. Look at you, you've got everything completely figured out. They can't be that far behind.'

Well. Brittany doesn't know about that. She is, like, a genius, at body conversations. Other people seem to take ages to catch up.

'It's not like we want them to waste time though. Rachel's got to go tell New York how special she is, Quinn's got to go be Quinn in Yale. Like. They could probably still figure stuff out there, but I want to _see._ I don't want them to realise that they are future sex-ers when I'm not there, that'd be way annoying.'

Santana snorts, and then rolls sideways so they are facing, and it'll be sex in about...five minutes, Brittany thinks.

'Your obsession with their future bedroom fun is a bit disturbing, Brit. This is _Rachel Berry_, remember.'

Brittany rolls her eyes.

'Whatever, you know it's hot. But, yeah, we need to figure out how to move stuff along a bit, so that Quinn knows that people love her.'

Santana's eyebrows flicker when Brittany says the l word, and she reaches out for Brittany's waistband, tugging her a bit closer.

'Maybe you should go speak to Rachel then. Teach her how to be a bit more obvious towards Quinn. You're good at obvious, B.'

That's a kind of awesome idea.

'She'd be like my apprentice. I'll make her wear one of those cone hats.'

Santana's grinning at her like a crazy person now, and Brittany's done with pretending she doesn't want sex straight away.

* * *

><p>It's tomorrow.<p>

(Technically it isn't, because tomorrow never comes, but it is tomorrow compared to the conversation and sex that she and Santana had yesterday, which Brittany had just been thinking about on the bus journey over)

(So technically, today is today, that all of that stuff was yesterday. But it was today when the conversation happened. But today is now today. Definitely.)

(She is going to make an excellent Dr Who, she can tell. Though she's not too impressed about the surname change, Brittany Who sounds like people have forgotten who she is, and duh. Like that's going to happen.)

Anyway.

Santana had said that Brittany could go along and maybe tell Rachel how to be obvious, as long as Brittany was subtle. And once Santana had explained that subtle was nothing to do with stubble, and that Brittany wouldn't need to find a false beard, Brittany had decided this was well within her capabilities.

How hard could it be to get Rachel to talk about her feelings, really? All Brittany needed to do would be to maybe kidnap Rachel, take her to Quinn's room, and make sure Rachel was wearing a blindfold so she didn't know where she was, and then ask her probing questions about her feelings about Quinn, so Quinn could listen while Rachel said that she thought Quinn was her perfect person.

Maybe something more low key, subtle means 'tricking people, but they will never know you tricked them.' Santana had made her write it down on her hand. It's washed off now, but that's fine because Brittany's memorized it on her soul.

She practices by subtly waiting for Rachel to notice that Brittany's standing outside her house, but after five minutes that hasn't worked, so she rings the buzzer.

'Hi Rachel!'

Rachel's always really small. But this will not be too much of a problem when her and Quinn finally start kissing, because Quinn isn't that tall either, so they'll fit. Finn's body always looked like it was trying to figure out how to get his spine to telescope when he was kissing Rachel.

Anyway.

Rachel's just asked her what she's doing. If she is being subtle, she isn't allowed to say she was thinking about Rachel kissing Quinn. Or Finn. Or anyone.

'I'm here to say hello. And also, I thought maybe we could go see Quinn together, today, because...the nurses scare me, and you are way more confident than me and they seem to understand what you are talking about.'

Rachel blinks at her loads of times, and looks like she wants to say no, but Brittany avoids this by not letting her say it.

'Anyway, ahh, Santana missed her slot on the rota this morning because she was...she was fighting crime, so Quinn hasn't seen anyone today yet, which is breaking the rules as laid out in your rota, so we need to get over there asap. Speedy. Stat. That stuff.'

That gets Rachel moving.

'I cannot believe Santana would be so lax as to not stick to the rota, and equally to not inform people so the back up plan could kick in. This is...thank you for telling me Brittany. I'll head over.'

It still isn't an invite to come with her, but Brittany just follows Rachel to the bus stop regardless.

* * *

><p>On the ride over, Brittany realises she needs to message Santana.<p>

_If Rachel asks, you were fighting crime. Tax evasion._

Then she spots that she has to message Quinn.

_Just say Santana didn't go, this morning. I am up to something, but you aren't allowed to ask. Subtle. Pink Panther. Out._

Ugh, this is a massive web of deceit, and Brittany feels like a spider with a migraine.

* * *

><p>From the moment her and Rachel arrive, the plan goes out of the window because Quinn is in wheelchair.<p>

'Quinn! You've got wheels! That's...I go first right?'

Rachel and Quinn do some secret body talking with their eyes, which mainly involves them saying hi and I missed you and I wish it was you here by yourself and how is it that you are so beautiful all the time, but Brittany has no time for this, because Quinn has wheels and Brittany wants to know how accurate her estimate of four minutes forty seven is for a lap of the top floor of the hospital.

'Rachel, time me. Quinn, be aero dynamic.'

* * *

><p>Two minutes in, a nurse yells at her for power walking, and Quinn waves a hand up in front of Brittany's face.<p>

'Brit, you'll make me travel sick.'

Reluctantly, Brittany takes it down a gear.

'Can we like, do it properly at some point though? Artie thinks his solo attempt can beat our team effort.'

Quinn snorts, and points at the shoulder still in the cast.

'What exactly is my contribution to the team effort Brit? I can't actually use the chair at the moment unless I want to circle on a spot.'

Oh, Quinn's grumpy pants are on. Brittany shouldn't be surprised.

'Quinn, your job is like the co-pilots on those rally cars. You have to describe the corners coming up. But, like, without opening your mouth too wide, or you'll catch the air and the aero-dynamics will be ruined.'

'Okay, firstly, my mouth is not that big. And secondly, I don't know what the hell you are up to with Rachel Brittany, but I'm really not in the mood for it. I don't want you staring at me or whatever my body is doing while Rachel is in the room, because this isn't fun, or entertaining, or something you can latch on to for your latest hobby. This isn't _funny_ Brittany. I don't want your analysis of what I'm thinking about Rachel.'

Whoa, seriously grumpy Quinn today. Like, if Brittany had just gotten wheels, she'd be all for burning rubber, not telling people off about totally innocent hobbies.

Brittany stops pushing, and walks around to the front of Quinn, and sits down cross-legged in front of her. Quinn rolls her eyes.

'Brit...we're in the middle of a corridor. You can't stop here.'

'Whatever Q. I'm just here because I wanted to see if maybe you'd got things wrong about Rachel, or something. Because, you are really bad at seeing when people care about you. I thought you could want some feedback on what Rachel's thinking.'

Quinn breathes in really slowly through her nose.

'Brittany, this body talking stuff... it's cute, okay, but this isn't a scientific investigation you're doing. Half the stuff you make up is ridiculous.'

That's a bit rude.

'So, what, you don't want to know what Rachel thinks when she sees you?'

Quinn lies, and Brittany hates it when people lie, the world is complicated enough.

'No. I don't want to know what you are dreaming up about Rachel.'

And whatever, Quinn's angry, and maybe scared about her legs, and hurting over whatever she thinks is happening in Rachel's head, but that doesn't mean she can be this rude to totally innocent people who are trying to use their super-powers for good.

'Fine Quinn. Anyway, my feet are tired. Let's see how long it takes until Rachel comes to rescue you.'

Brittany feels a bit bad, as she walks away, because Quinn is calling after her in the voice that Quinn's mom uses when embarrassing social things are happening, but Brittany's okay with being the bad guy, she guesses, if it means Quinn can see how desperate Rachel is to be the good guy.

* * *

><p>'Hey Rachel.'<p>

'Where's Quinn?'

'I...oh. She was supposed to be following me.'

'Brittany! She can't move herself yet, what... Have you just left her somewhere?'

'Ummm. Yes. Near a notice board I think. Something to do with hand sanitizers, maybe?'

'_Brittany!_'

* * *

><p>Eight minutes twenty seven, which makes Brittany think Rachel must have gone the long way around to find Quinn.<p>

And now they're both really angry with her, and that makes Brittany feel a bit like one of those misunderstood villains in comic books, who nobody realizes is actually a force for good.

And this is starting to annoy Brittany _alot, _because even though Rachel's looking at her like Brittany just suggested she'd sound better auto-tuned, Quinn is too busy being all angry and prickly to notice that Rachel is like _way _protective of her, the same way that Brittany is over Santana.

Everyone is stupid.

Rachel and Quinn are having this really weird polite conversation about how to get Quinn back on her bed, whilst their bodies are screaming _just be near me_, and ugh. Just ugh. They're beyond Brittany's help. Her subtle skills aren't up to this.

She also maybe needs to go before Rachel rips her head off.

'Bye guys.'

Nobody says bye back, and Brittany's kind of bummed, because she was only trying to help. Jeez.

* * *

><p>On the bus journey home, she gets a call from Santana.<p>

'B... did you just leave Quinn somewhere? Rachel's just rang me up to yell at me for not turning up this morning, which is totally fine because I reckon Quinn can draw up her own goddamn rota now, but she also then tried to yell you through me, like we're psychically connected.'

'Did you tell her you were fighting crime?'

'No. I told her the rota sucked ass. I don't think she'd believe the crime fighting. For some reason.'

Brittany pouts unhappily, and tugs a little at the fraying material of the seat in front of her.

'It didn't go quite to plan, San.'

Brittany likes how Santana can always tell when she's not feeling good, and how her voice softens automatically.

'Ah, well. It was never going to be a quick fix B. Least Quinn got to hear Rachel being shrill and angry. Nothing more arousing than that, I'd imagine.'

Brittany shrugs, because she isn't sure if Santana is being sarcastic or really does find angry people sexy, and then remembers Santana can't see that she's shrugged.

'Maybe. Can you come over later? So I can tell you that Rachel's really annoying, sometimes, and Quinn's really stupid.'

Santana laughs.

'Sure, Brit. Give me a couple of hours.'

* * *

><p>When Brittany gets to her room, she's got a message on her phone.<p>

It's from Quinn. She sort of wants to delete it, but then remembers that she is supposed to be using her powers for good, and Batman gets like, no recognition.

_What was Rachel saying, Brit? In between her words. I'd like to know. If that is okay? _

It isn't a sorry, but Quinn doesn't maybe know she needs to apologize. Brittany decides that she'll just have wait until everything has gotten sorted and there are no secrets anymore, and then explain to Quinn, so she'll get her sorry then.

_Lots of stuff. Like, I'm happy you are still getting better, and I'm happy I'm near you, and I really want you to be happy that you're near me._

She presses send, and then another thought strikes her.

_Remember it isn't a science exam though. I could be imagining._

It only takes Quinn a couple of minutes to answer.

_Your imagination is pretty good, most of the time. Thanks x_

Brittany decides that things might not have been a total waste of time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi, once again, thank you to everyone who is reading and enjoying, your encouragement helps to keep me ticking along.**

**As an aside, I've had a few P.M.s requesting that I just focus on Rachel and Quinn povs, now that both parties are awake! And, though I appreciate the desire to stick solely with those two, it isn't what I will be doing. I'm not writing the ballad of Quinn and Rachel. This story was always going to be about my favourite characters, and I have a fair few. So, sorry about that! We'll get back around to them :)**

* * *

><p>Puck is completely not down with this.<p>

'Dude. Dude. You need to...not have a fucking melt down over this.'

The guy code, (not that there is an official one, that'd be lame and the first step on the road of growing a vagina) is that anything big and emotional that cannot be solved with two hours worth of CoD is not something that you bring to your best friend's door, regardless of how awesome the dude in question is. That shit's for your _mom._

'Fucking... stop it. Man up. You're wrecking my stats.'

He feels bad for the boy, he really does. Puck's never gotten rejected as hard as Finn has, and going from engaged to completely alone in the space of a fortnight has to be a massive kick in the teeth, but the fact remains that there is zero Puck can do about the situation, and so just turning up, demanding to go multi-player, and then blubbering the entire way through is damn stupid.

Finn gets shot again, and Puck throws an empty at his head. Finn looks briefly like he is going to stand up and jump on his controller, but then just slumps back into the couch.

His goddamn bottom lip goddamn wobbles, and Puck's had it.

'Seriously. You getting dumped has turned you into a ten year old girl, huh?'

Finn pushes a hand across his face, and then flips him off wearily.

'They're only stats. You can just get Mike to pretend to be you for a while, if you're that freaked about them.'

Puck wonders whether Finn is ever going to get his point, and then stands up to yank the console out at the wall.

'We're out of beers. You coming?'

* * *

><p>Finn is silent for the journey to the store, and so Puck just drives him to his house, and cuts the engine.<p>

'There. Go do the decent thing, cry by yourself in your room. Come find me when you're ready to talk about all the chicks you can get friendly with, now Rachel's stopped demanding all your attention.'

That earns him a punch on the arm that Puck barely feels, but all in all pathetic aggression is better than pathetic tears.

'Don't speak about her like that!'

Puck gets why girls like Santana spend their life rolling their eyes, because that's what this situation calls for. Instead he just punches back.

'Don't speak about Rachel like she is still yours. Dude, seriously. She ended it. She doesn't want to be with you. Tried; failed. Get a fucking grip.'

Shit, he feels bad, he does, when Finn looks like he can't decide whether he wants to break Puck's face or maybe a window, but instead just scrunches his face up and starts crying. Again.

'Finn... seriously. This marriage thing. It wasn't what was supposed to happen. You guys had a good time, the end. You aren't even cut up because she's left you; you're just cut up because she left you looking like an idiot.'

'Shut up. Shut up. Just because you've never had a girl you've actually cared about.'

Bit low, but he'll let that one slide for now.

'Go cry at your mom, Finn. In case you were wondering; that isn't me.'

Finn slams the door hard enough to rock the suspension, and Puck breathes out slowly through his nose. He stays put for a bit, smoothing his hands around the steering wheel, and watches the street lighting flicker on, slowly. When he looks up at Finn's place, there's one light on near the top of the house, but no sign of life beyond that.

He's not a counsellor. He's never been good with words, and trying to find the correct combination of words for a dude who legitimately doesn't know what the hell is going on with his future ex wife girlfriend thing is totally beyond him.

Puck makes a decision.

* * *

><p>'Mr Berry.'<p>

The guy (Puck has a bit of a brain seizure about how to mentally refer to him without being racist, homophobic, or just stupid, settles for the Lionel Richie-ish one, not that all non- white dudes look the same) frowns at him.

'You don't have flowers do you?'

What?

'Um. No. Should I have flowers? Is that how I earn conversation time here?'

Lionel glares at him a bit, which could potentially be a bit intimidating if the guy wasn't wearing a cravat, but instead just leaves Puck feeling vaguely awkward.

'I'm presuming you mean conversation time with my daughter, rather than my husband. And no, you earn conversation time by asking her if you can have a conversation. Which you can't. She isn't in yet.'

Puck shoves his hands in his pockets, and looks up at the Berry porch light.

'Right. Well, could I wait?'

Lionel stares blankly at him for a moment, and then throws a look over his shoulder.

'Where? You could come in, but my husband is in the middle of 'Soufflé Sunday' prep, and you will probably be required to wear an apron and beat egg whites, because our mixer has just flat lined.'

Puck has very little idea what was just said. And then the other dude appears, sporting the same look Rachel does when she thinks the universe is against her (nearly always), and heaves a really big sigh of relief.

'Oh thank god. Back up biceps. In, in.'

* * *

><p>Things have gotten weird.<p>

He's been given a bowl of stuff that looks _alot_ like spit, and has been told to beat it until peaks form. Which...seems unlikely. And other Berry (not Lionel) is flinging himself around the kitchen like the apocalypse is underway, while Lionel is drinking champagne and doing vocal runs in the next room.

He has a vision of being trapped here until midnight and interrogated about skin care, or whatever classy gay gents do when they aren't making food out of spit, so asks other Berry a question when his head emerges from the fridge.

'Do you know when Rachel's going to be back, Mr Berry?'

'What? Oh, soon-ish. She knows what day it is. Honey, we're out of sun-dried tomatoes, and _how many times _have I told you we need an emergency stash of sun-dried tomatoes in case of scenarios exactly like the one that is happening now?'

Lionel straight up glides into the kitchen, and reaches under the sink for a jar of what Puck assumes is sun-dried tomatoes, from the way other Berry jumps up and down once and then claps his hands.

'You wonderful man. Isn't he wonderful?'

Puck nods his head once and gets back to the spit.

'Yup. Awesome. Good job with the... tomatoes, Mr Berry.'

He's largely ignored, because suddenly the two of them are working in tandem getting stuff out, and into jars, and serving dishes, and they're like some kind of well oiled machine that doesn't need to check who is doing what, because they're either psychic, or have done this many time before.

'Will you be staying? We always make enough for at least one spare setting, people do seem to just turn up.'

Spit is now frothy. Puck grits his teeth, and changes beating arm.

'Staying till Rachel's here. Umm. Need to speak to her.'

'Just don't propose Noah, that'd be more than my elderly heart can take.'

Puck blinks a couple of times when his name gets said, and rests the whisk on the edge of the bowl. Before he can ask other Berry how he knows his name, other Berry clutches at his chest.

'Oh dear god...you weren't actually going to propose, were you?'

Lionel beats him to it, exploding with laughter.

'Hiram... you're far too old for him. Those days are over.'

Hiram! That was it. Feeling a bit better to have figured out at least one of their names, Puck returns to whisking.

'Aah, no, not proposing, Rachel is... way too smart for me. I just didn't think you knew my name, that's all. Threw me.'

Lionel throws him a loaded look that Puck thinks is supposed to have hidden meanings, but he's way too off balance to have a go at translating.

'Oh, we've been learning lots, ever since the nearly wedding. Anyone who is of the slightest significant and importance to Quinn Fabray, we've suddenly heard all about it.'

Puck's bowl of spit suddenly doesn't look like spit anymore, and this is good, because nearly anything is better than spit.

'Right. Well yeah... Quinn's important to me, so it makes sense that Rachel thinks I'm important to Quinn.'

The buzzer goes, and Hiram Berry yells _'Door!'_ at the top of his lungs, despite the fact that they are all stood in the same spot and must have all heard it the same. Lionel rolls his eyes at Puck, and god, he'd never thought he'd ever consider Rachel Berry the sane option in any scenario, but right now he's got everything crossed.

* * *

><p>It's Quinn's mom.<p>

It's _Quinn's mom._

And this is straight-up, divine punishment for every time he's ever done anything wrong ever, because the bowl of no-longer spit has been removed from his hands, and he's been ushered into the dining room with _Quinn's mom_ and now it would seem small talk is happening.

He misses his bowl of not-spit.

'This is a...surprise.'

Nowhere near as surprising as it is for him, but before he can formulate that into something socially acceptable (he wants to check his pits, but he fears she would pass out), Quinn's mom looks worried that she'd said something rude.

'A lovely surprise, of course. It would seem that I'm finding nothing but hidden depths, since... since I met Beth with you.'

Shit shit shit, he doesn't know how to play this game _at all._

'Uh. I don't know about that. I just stopped by to have a word with Rachel, but then the mixer was broke, so I stepped up.'

Puck briefly considers flexing his guns, but then remembers the pit situation, and just ends up grinning weakly. Quinn's mom takes a really big gulp of wine, and Puck feels his leg start jiggling with nerves, reflexively.

'Well. It is lovely to get to see this side of you. Ever since... I mean, my first discussions regarding you were not, shall we say, under ideal circumstances, so to see this caring side of you is most welcome.'

He has zero, _zero,_ idea what she is talking about except that she is referring to the fact that one time he'd gotten her daughter drunk and managed to get her panties off (it wasn't like that, okay? He's changed, anyway) and Puck really needs a Berry in here right now, because there is no way that he is going to say the right thing.

A Berry doesn't appear, though, so he's going to have to try and go it alone.

'It was... um. Quinn's always meant a lot to me. I guess I'm trying to show it in better ways, these days. She's pretty amazing.'

He's addressing the cutlery, mainly, but when he does risk a glance Mrs Fabray's eyes have gone watery, and she's blinking hard.

'That's... that's really good to hear, Noah.'

Puck doesn't even think to wonder about the second surprise use of his name this evening, because he is too busy breathing a mental sigh of relief.

The door opens, in the distance, and shit, who'd have thought there'd be a day when hearing Rachel's voice would bring on such a feeling of euphoria.

* * *

><p>Rachel is sitting opposite him, looking part surprised, part furious.<p>

Puck tries to indicate, with a frantic gesture of his fork when he hopes nobody is looking, that this was not his idea at all, and he is completely not okay with this either.

Rachel, with a small roll of her eyes and a waggle of her elbow, tells him that she couldn't care less whether he'd planned for the evening to wind up like this or not, it is entirely his fault that the current fiesta of awkward is happening in the Berry dining room.

That totally isn't fair, but Puck hasn't got the body language reserves to counter this, and so just pushes a mournful fork into his food, and concentrates on not drawing attention to the fact that he has no idea whether he's holding his cutlery correctly.

At some point between first course and second course, Daddy Lionel gets on his feet.

'Well, if we wouldn't mind... a toast. To Quinn's speedy recovery, and focusing on the positives that can emerge from the worst moments in life.'

Rachel murmurs _to Quinn _under her breath, and Puck is mainly relieved he managed to get his glass in the air without throwing the contents over everyone.

When he's calmed down, Quinn's mom is speaking, mainly to Berry dad one and two, about how grateful she is for their support, and how she hopes that a friendship, 'despite everything,' can be formed, and how delighted she is to learn that her daughter is important to so many wonderful people. At one point she tips her glass towards Puck in acknowledgement, and if it is possible, Rachel's frown doubles in response.

* * *

><p>It's over.<p>

Lionel Berry offers to take Quinn's mom home, and Hiram Berry is commencing 'Operation Clean Up', so Puck gets five minutes on the porch with Rachel.

First things first.

'Rachel, what's the name of your other dad? It's been doing my head in all night.'

'Leroy.'

Leroy! He wasn't far off. Not bad he thinks, before noticing Rachel is glaring at him like she's trying to figure out where she'd store his body after she's murdered him.

'Rach, what? I didn't mean to be there, stuff just happened and I couldn't figure out how to leave.'

'Oh, sure, Noah. You just randomly turned up to say hi and my dads threatened you with a shot gun until you sat down at the table, huh?'

That's sarcasm, he's getting better at spotting it.

'No, I mean, I did come to speak to you, but then, some eggs needed beating up? I don't know. Your dads are good at not letting someone leave.'

Rachel flings her hair around, and sits down on the steps.

'So this wasn't you trying to get into Mrs Fabray's good books, was it?'

Puck squints at the back of her head, perplexed, and sits down next to her.

'What? Rachel, I didn't even know she was going to be there. I mean, I guess I'm glad she was, I sort of want her to like me, what with the whole Beth situation, but that was just a fluke.'

Rachel whips around, and tries to glare at him with eyes full of tears, and shit, it is like being savaged by Bambi.

'If you...if you dare even think about trying to get back with Quinn while she is in this vulnerable condition, I will ask Santana to remove one of your testicles, and kick you really hard in the other one.'

Several things start making sense at once. Puck's first instinct is to laugh, but he has a visual of what could happen to his groin if he laughs, so instead just presses the palm of his hand to the back of Rachel's head, once.

'Shit... I'm not trying to get with Quinn. If I've learnt anything, it is that we'd tear each other apart, and I want us to get on so we can keep seeing Beth. I really did just come here to speak to you Rachel. About Finn.'

Rachel looks like she is trying to mentally change gear, and Puck presses on, trying to speak quickly in the hope he'd get some honesty out of Rachel, before she can construct too many walls.

'He's, like, broken in half, Rachel. And, I'm fairly certain that people can recover from broken hearts, given time, but I have no idea how to deal with, or speak to, a guy who doesn't know what's triggered the break up, and whether he should be hoping you'll change your mind, or start getting a grip on how to move on. And Finn doesn't know, so I don't know, so what I'm here for is for you to tell me what's going on in your head, so I can try and say some of the right things to Finn.'

Rachel draws herself up, and flexes her fingers, once.

'Puck, if you think you have any right to be privy to what is happening in my head, particularly because you have just declared your intentions to feedback to Finn, then you are entirely mistaken.'

Puck sighs, and shifts slightly, trying to find a section of porch step that isn't massively uncomfortable.

'I'm not asking because I want to know, or because I'd tell Finn. I'm asking so I know how to help out my bro, Rachel. He needs someone saying the right things to him, and he ain't got anyone because we are all pretty much in the dark.'

Rachel is silent for a long moment, and Puck shrugs.

'I can try a different line of attack if you want? Like, I dunno, are _you_ trying to get with Quinn while she is in a vulnerable state? That'd be shitty of you, wouldn't it?'

That one does actually earn him a fist to the groin, and ouch.

Fucking... ouch.

When Puck has finished checking he's all still attached to himself, he realizes that Rachel's gone marching down to the end of the path, which is better than into the Berry house, because there's no way he'd get the confirmation he needs from her if that had happened.

Gathering himself, he slopes down the path after her.

'That was harsh of me. Sorry.'

When Rachel looks at him, the anger is gone and it is wobbly lip time again.

'Why would you even ask that, Noah?'

Puck runs a hand over the soft buzz of his hair.

'Well, like I said. I just need to know what direction to point Finn in, once he figures out how to stand up again. I just need to know you aren't going back to him, because you're stuck on someone else, not just because you got freaked out over the wedding. And, like. It's okay, Rachel. Quinn is...pretty special. I said so to her mom. You've got to be made of steel to not be a tiny bit in love with her, and you ain't made of steel Rachel. Far from it.'

Rachel makes a small noise, and rubs two sets of fingers over her eyes, blinking away tears.

'Why are you being this nice, Noah? I've... I'm the one hurting Finn.'

Puck shrugs, thinks about putting his hands in his pockets, but instead puts one arm around her shoulders, tugging her close for a half hug.

'Going soft in my old age, maybe? And, you aren't doing this on purpose, Rach. You're like, really annoying for a lot of the time, but you aren't nasty. Plus, even though I've got Finn's back no matter, I'm pretty protective of your back too, if you get me.'

Rachel squeezes back once, and then releases.

'I'm not going back to Finn, I'm... what did you say? I'm stuck on someone else. So, whatever you need to guy talk at Finn, that's the version you're looking for. Thank you for trying to take care of him.'

Puck snorts, and looks away.

'I dunno about taking care of him Rach. That's for his mom. I'm just trying to fix him sooner rather than later, so I can stop feeling like we should be talking about _emotions_ whenever we hang out.'

Rachel hums, and glances back up at her house.

'You're a good guy Noah.'

'Yeah, well, don't spread it around. I have a rep to maintain.'

That earns him a small laugh, and thank crap, this is way too intense. Rachel looks up at him, and then begins to inspect her fingernails, in the near darkness of the street.

'Would it be terrible of me, do you think? I mean, with the accident and everything, I would want to spend all this time with her even if I wasn't feeling...but I am, so... do you think I should stop going?'

Puck cannot remember if he has ever heard Rachel Berry make this little sense. Rachel seems to notice, and takes a really deep breath.

'You aren't going to tell Finn?'

Oh.

'Of course not. He won't want to hear it, anyway.'

Rachel nods, mainly to herself, and shifts her weight from one foot to another.

'I'm stuck on her, Noah. On Quinn. From...since, I mean, I don't know how long, but I recently realized, and thought the world would think I was ridiculous, so then the wedding seemed a good idea, but then the accident happened, and... god. I'm so stuck on her. And now I'm, what was it, taking advantage of her vulnerable state, do you think?'

Puck grunts, and reaches into his pocket for his keys, because he can tell that after that confession Rachel isn't going to want him to hang around for long.

'Rachel. Quinn is, even with the broken bits, about as vulnerable as a rhino to things she doesn't want to happen. So like, if you're getting close to her, it's because she's letting you. Just saying.'

Rachel sighs once, and looks down at her feet.

'That's... thanks Noah. That's actually... thank you.'

Puck reaches out, and pats her on the head once, just because it feels appropriate.

'If you're making a decision Rachel, stick with it, yeah? I will not be impressed if you head back to Finn now.'

Rachel nods her head really hard, and looks into his eyes.

'I know. And... I'm not going to. Tell him I'm sorry.'

There. Settled. Puck nods his head once, and then turns away to his truck. He's about to close the door when Rachel calls after him.

'What?'

'She'd really love to see Beth, I think. If you could sort it.'

Puck raises a hand in acknowledgement.

'Already on it. See you.'

* * *

><p>You see, he already was on it. He'd already spoken to Shelby, he'd already gone and bought a goddamn baby seat for his truck, he'd already double checked a million times that he had Shelby's contact number in case there was an emergency and she had to talk him through a diaper change.<p>

But when he turns up to Quinn's room the following day, and Quinn is in a wheelchair, sitting in sunlight, and Beth throws out a hand towards her from his arms, he doesn't much feel like taking credit. Because this is enough. It's enough for him.

'Hey. Rachel thought you might want to see this little one.'

Quinn's face lights up, in a moment of such joy Puck doesn't really know what to do with himself, except deposit Beth on Quinn's knee, and draw up a chair so he can remove his kid if she gets too interested in the more damaged side of Quinn's body.

* * *

><p>Beth calls Quinn 'Win'. It's kind of amazing.<p>

* * *

><p>After half an hour of just grinning, and playing with Beth, and watching Beth try to stretch her fingers out to match Quinn's, Puck notices that Quinn grimaces, slightly, when trying to readjust Beth with her one arm, and instinctively plucks her away.<p>

'Hey. Sorry. You looked a bit tired, for a moment.'

Quinn nods, and runs a hand through her hair.

'Yeah, it's... hard. Keeping a toddler still with one arm.'

Puck nods, and stands up to re-arrange Beth in his arms, tucks her up so she's got a teddy in her hands.

Without hesitation, Beth sticks the teddy's ear into her mouth and clamps down on it, and Puck can't help but grin delightedly at Quinn.

Quinn meets his eyes and just smiles, before running a hand down her thigh.

'I can... they say I'm improving. My legs. I can feel Beth clambering all over them, and my muscles are starting to flex again. I could feel them trying to do it just then, automatically, I guess. Re-adjusting for her.'

That's...Puck can feel his chest open up in relief, like his body has just discovered an extra lung, and he reaches over to grab her hand and squeeze, once.

'Awesome. That's...really good, no? You'll be back to kicking everyone's butt again soon, right?'

Quinn gives him a half smile, and looks away.

'Hopefully. I mean, they don't know how complete the return of control will be, but it is looking good so...'

Puck's a bit confused about why Quinn isn't completely over the moon about this, and shifts Beth in his arms whilst he buys thinking time, and tries to bump the conversation back to good things.

'You think... when do they think they'll let you home?'

A shadow passes over Quinn face, and Puck is completely thrown.

'Soon, they say. I'm incredibly lucky, they keep telling me. If mom can sort out a room down stairs for me, in the next couple of days. I'll have to inject myself with anti-coagulant, but other than that I'll only need to come back in for the physical therapy sessions.'

Again, this sounds like good news, so Puck's not getting why Quinn's suddenly got all her armour back on. He nods, absently, and pets the top of Beth's head.

After a moment, Quinn smiles weakly, and stretches over to her table, where a well worn piece of paper is plucked up by slender fingers.

'I guess the rota can start to be phased out, then...'

Puck has a moment of realization, and has to stop himself from laughing at how mixed up Quinn has got this, still.

He doesn't curb his instinct to plunge right in, though.

'She'll still visit, you know. She's not, like, doing out of duty, and won't stop just because you're out of hospital. Rachel is still going to turn up.'

Quinn's face flickers, and then when she looks at him, her eyes are sharp.

'What are you... where did that come from?'

Oh, man, the self-inflicted stupidity of these two is kind of hilarious.

'Rachel. You're worried Rachel will stop visiting. Well, she won't. Not if you tell her you want her. To come. Visit, that is.'

Quinn looks at him really carefully, and Puck knows, now. He can spot when she's hiding things.

'Why are you talking about Rachel so much?'

Because you are thinking about her so much? Puck stops himself.

'Because... Rachel's done a lot of visiting. Like, you've gotten closer. Than you were. Thought you might have been worrying, that's all.'

Quinn folds the piece of paper in her hands absent-mindedly, and then opens it back up again.

'I...right. Thanks. I would like to still see Rachel, that is true.'

She's picking her words really carefully, and Puck decides to play along, because he doesn't want to ruin the day by making Quinn completely shut down.

'Cool. I'll tell her. It was her idea, you know. Bringing in Beth.'

Quinn smiles quietly, and her eyes soften in a way Puck doesn't ever remember seeing.

'Yeah? That was... she's really thoughtful. Isn't she?'

Puck nods, and moves Beth again, this time so he can grab a picture book from the bag he'd brought in.

'Yeah. She is. Anyway, thought Beth might want you to read her a story?'

Beth wiggles at her name, presses a hand to his face and yells 'Storywin!'

They've made a pretty cool kid.

* * *

><p>Oh the way out, once he's packed all the baby bits back in the right bags, and he's figured out how to get Beth's shoes on again, Puck has a thought.<p>

'Hey, you know I'd said I'd tell Rachel she's still to visit? Maybe you should, it'd make more sense coming from you.'

Quinn glances quickly at him again, but there's less fear there, this time.

'Yeah. Okay. I will. Thanks Puck.'

Puck scoops up Beth in one arm, and nods at Quinn.

'Anytime. Say bye to Quinn, Beth.'

* * *

><p>After dropping Beth off ('bye Ohwa!') Puck heads for Finn's house.<p>

He's not going to say, obviously. But he knows what direction he needs to push Finn towards, at least.


	11. Chapter 11

**This one took at bit longer, apologies. Mainly because it is longer than the others, and partly because Sue Sylvester is really hard to write to a point where she sounds accurate to me! Once I'd cracked that the rest was easy. Again, thank you for your continued interest and feedback, reviews and thoughts are always lovely to read.**

* * *

><p>'Coach. You wanted to see me?'<p>

Coach Sylvester sits back in her chair, and frowns at Santana over her glasses, and...it isn't that she is scared of Coach Sylvester, because she's not. She's constantly off-balance and permanently waiting for the killer blow, but she's not _scared._

'Ahh. Lopez. I thought I'd sent around a direct message, apparently I was mistaken and you had to wait until carrier pigeons could be re-created from similar technologies utilized in the Jurassic Park docu-series, so your tardiness is down to your chronic inability to catch said bird using your spindly arms and flabby core muscles, am I correct?'

Okay, so she had been like five minutes late, but there'd been an assignment set and she's needed to pick up the extra notes. And now she has to answer. Two chances.

'Yes, Coach.'

Coach Sylvester sighs, and abruptly produces a bread roll from her desk drawer, and throws it at Santana's face.

'No, incorrect. You are late because you are a moron, incapable of finding her way from one side of the school to another without consulting a GPS tracking system. Correct?'

What the hell?

'Correct.'

Coach Sylvester stares at her for a moment.

'Incorrect. Pick up the bread roll and place it upon your head. That will attract the mythical carrier pigeon to land on your shoulder and sing the message into your ear, with only the minor downside of its choice to empty its bowels copiously and extravagantly on your shoulder.'

Santana reaches down and picks up the bread roll, turns it over in her hands once, and then places it cautiously back on Coach Sylvester's desk.

'I... don't _think_ I have to do that, Coach.'

Coach Sylvester looks at her for a moment, and then appears to drop the matter entirely, picking up her pen and pushing her glasses up so she can read the notes in front of her.

'Correct. Your first correct answer since you stumbled into my care like a three legged sea sick Bambi all those years ago. Well done.'

Santana would disagree about the meaning of the word 'care' here, but that is probably the first 'well done' that Santana has ever earned as an individual from Coach, and that surely has to buy her at least three minutes breathing space.

But, she doesn't really know what to do with the breathing space beyond sit in the chair and try to subtly flex her core muscles, just in case.

Eventually Coach glances at her, before going back to the paper work.

'It would appear that despite me giving you appropriate praise at an opportune moment, as per a teaching manual I read once before burning it and travelling to the coast in order to commit its ashes to the Atlantic ocean, our bond has not developed to the stage where your puny brain can read my vast intellect. This is unfortunate because I require the answer to an obvious question.'

Okay, so after the split second in which Santana cannot accurately guess which of the seven stages of hell Coach Sylvester's mind is currently orbiting, she gets full on eye-contact.

'My mind, fun bags. Read it.'

The annoying thing is that Brittany would be all over this.

'Um. You want to know our set list for Nationals?'

'Ugh. You sicken me. That is so 2010. Again.'

'You want me to find a way to replace Mr Schue's hair product with engine oil again? Because I'm not sure...'

Coach Sylvester snatches her glasses off her face, opens the desk drawer, snarls vaguely when she appears to realize that she's played her trump card too soon, and points a finger at the bread roll.

'Throw it at yourself.'

Santana looks at the roll for a moment, weighing up the possibilities.

'Ummm. No?'

Coach sitting back, mollified.

'Good. Well done for realizing how to be an almost grown up. Let's try and continue the winning streak, shall we? What do I care about, that you are also linked to?'

Easy. 'Cheerios.'

'Yes. Your cognitive abilities know no bounds. So, anything significant or important or otherwise crucial going on with my Cheerios, at the moment? Here's a clue, because I can tell from your face that the three brain cells you keep in your acorn head are almost overcome with exhaustion; one of my Cheerios in particular?'

'Oh... you mean Q, Coach?'

Coach Sylvester sits back in her chair, and holds up one hand, tapping thumb and index finger together repeatedly.

'Do you know what this is, Santana?'

Santana doesn't really know what anything is, anymore.

'No.'

'It is a tiny, tiny, round of applause, pitched at a level appropriate for mice. Because that is what you have achieved. Now tell me, how is Q? Does she still have two legs?'

And, well, Santana's still not entirely sure what is happening, because the news about Quinn's accident and the general details of her recovery are pretty much common knowledge, but she plays along gamely.

'She does. They are still there.'

Coach Sylvester stares at her for a moment, and then presses a button on her desk. Behind her, in flashing lights, the words _NOT ENOUGH!_ illuminate. Santana plunges on.

'She's in a wheelchair at the moment. Sensations are coming back. She is hoping that she'll be able to walk again, things keep looking better. She'll be out of hospital soon, hopefully. The doctors don't know how much she will recover. Umm. But they keep saying that she is incredibly lucky.'

Coach Sylvester sits back, and steeples her fingers.

'I ask purely because I want to know if I need to invest in a hydraulic spare leg, in order to prop Quinn up so she doesn't wobble over and embarrass us all.'

Santana doesn't know what to say to that, and Coach is clearly building up to something, so she leaves it. After a moment, Coach Sylvester opens another drawer and hands Santana a pretty full folder cardboard of what looks like brochures and work out guides, from a quick glance.

'While I am sure the hospital people will have given her the physical therapy exercises required to turn her into a normal functioning human again, Cheerios are more than human, and so I have designed my own therapy programme. Tell her I expect her to return at her usual standards. Her place on the team is reserved until then.'

And that appears to be that. Santana clutches the folder to her chest, and rises, cautiously, in case Coach Sylvester remembers another incomprehensible and offensive line of interrogation.

Nothing appears, and she's free to go.

That's two rounds of well done in the space of five minutes. She's oddly proud.

* * *

><p>McKinley was too small, these days. Santana sometimes thinks that one day she'll miss it, maybe. But right now it is too small, she knows every idiot in here by sight, or by body odor for an unfortunate few, and could give a small speech on why they are idiots, if required.<p>

Equally it doesn't help that she is pretty much famous in here, what with her being smoking hot, crazy talented, and basically a big deal. Which is fine normally, it means that she can barge people out of the canteen queue no problem. But in the after-math of Quinn's accident, it had been goddamn annoying having to answer the questions of about a thousand nosey people. At one point she'd considered bringing in pepper spray.

However, today she must be giving off really strong _don't even think about bothering me_ vibes, because the crowds just part in front of her. That or everyone has gotten bored of Quinn, now that word has got around that she isn't dying.

Morons. The entire herd of them.

Santana's locker needs emptying out at some point, but she never quite gets around to it, and so decants what she needs for the weekend's study in her bag, and flicks it shut with her elbow.

Kurt's stood by her.

'Hello.'

'What?'

Kurt stares at her for a moment, and then coughs.

'So, are you in charming delightful friendly Santana mode today, or one of the many other versions?'

Santana rolls her eyes, and fiddles with the locker catch so it re-sets.

'I'm in the mode that doesn't want to speak to morons. You get to decide whether or not to be a moron. Just so you know; your track record isn't good.'

Kurt picks up his satchel when Santana turns away from him, and skips a couple of times to fall in step.

'Oh Santana. So elegantly obnoxious. Are we not at the stage yet where we bond over being fabulous teen homosexuals yet? I'm sure we are due a session.'

'Of therapy, in your case. We bond over nothing, Kurt. You like boys, I like girls. You like making dreadful fashion choices, I like to look good. You like Blaine, I like everyone who isn't Blaine, do I need to continue?'

Kurt continues to follow her out into the parking lot, and he is being quite annoyingly persistent today. Santana stops, and glares at him.

'Okay, usually, saying something against the bow tied aspiring Messiah of the gays is enough to get you to strop off. What do you want?'

Kurt frowns at her, and then appears to reign in the happy go lucky attitude he'd previously been sporting.

'Fine, whatever. We don't like each other today. I honestly cannot keep up. My point: I'm dying here, Santana. Rachel tells me she's feeling feelings for Quinn, chucks my brother in law, and then closes down like a crypt. I can get nothing out of her. If she is having lesbian themed revelations, I should be in the loop, no? For her own well-being, at the very least. I can guide her through the mine field that is an unrequited crush, I have years of experience.'

Santana opens her mouth to tell Kurt that he has got entirely the wrong end of the stick, and then closes it abruptly. The sneaky little...

'You are getting nothing out of me Hurt Kummel. If Rachel wants to share her inner most emotions with you, that's her look out. But you are as confidential as Miss Pillsbury's office.'

Kurt's about to say something, but some complete douchbag from the hockey teams chooses that moment to yell _gays _really loudly across the parking lot. Santana flinches, and okay, she cannot tell whether it was at them, or just at his wanker friends, but right now it doesn't matter, because everyone is a fucking wanker and she hates this fucking place.

Kurt places a hand on her arm, and he's lucky she doesn't remove his arm for his efforts.

'Don't _touch_ me!'

Kurt's hand snaps back like Santana burns, and he grimaces at her.

'Okay, okay, it's just, that wasn't at us, specifically. That was just the casual homophobia that surrounds us with every step, but it wasn't targeted. We should probably be throwing flowers at them in gratitude.'

'Shut up, Kurt, just...shut up.'

* * *

><p>They go to McDonalds. Santana has no idea why, but certain moments seem to require a McFlurry, and her having a rage black out and nearly braining someone with the nearest heavy object is one of them.<p>

She's got Kurt in the passenger seat. She is worried that he is under the impression that they are bonding.

They are not bonding.

'We are not bonding.'

Kurt removes his soda straw from his mouth, and glances at her.

'Okay, understood. Today is a 'no bonding' day. Tomorrow, who knows.'

He's mocking her, but, whatever. She's trying to rise above stuff, these days.

'Yes. Maybe. Tomorrow you might not be a moron.'

Kurt sighs, and flips down the sun visor of the passenger seat to check his reflection.

'Pretty sure that the rest of us are the ones who stay the same, and you're the one with moods that veer wildly over the emotional scale. Considered pills to deal with that?'

'No. Considered a lobotomy?'

Kurt smiles once, and Santana glares at him until she is _almost_ smiling back.

'Whatever Kurt. So we may have one or two more things in common than I anticipated when you first Tinkerbell-ed your way into my awareness. But an understanding of the vague hate that is out there for people like you and me, does not automatically give you an access all areas pass to the people in my life. _Particularly _Quinn.'

Kurt stares at her for a moment, and then clears his throat.

'Gay people, you mean. People like us.'

'Homosexual people, thank you.'

They sit in stony silence for a couple of minute, watching the lights just opposite their parking bay change from green to red and back. Eventually Kurt digs into his bag and checks his cell.

'I do just want to support Rachel, you know. She's had a car crash of her own, emotionally speaking. I haven't told anyone about what she's said with regards to Quinn, despite feeling as though I'm going to burst at the seams, but she's shut down totally. I can't tell if it is good or bad.'

He's still fishing.

'Kurt. You ain't getting nothing from me. Okay? Nada. I concede that this might be you in nice gossip mode, rather than ammo gathering, but Quinn would _never_ say _anything_ to you regarding her head space, so neither am I. Take it or leave it.'

Kurt sighs, and stretches vaguely.

'Do you think they know they are in love with each other, yet?'

Okay, is he trying to earn himself a beating? Kurt must see her face, or at least have a vision of the immediate future, because he throws his hands up in a placating gesture.

'No, no, I only say it because of what Quinn said to me.'

'Oh really? You can't just invent conversations and then expect me to fill in the gaps.'

Kurt shrugs.

'Wouldn't call it a conversation. When Rachel and myself visited, after you guys had gone, Quinn woke up for about a second when Rachel was out of the room. She only managed to ask one question before she passed out again. And the most important thing she wanted to find out was whether Rachel had gotten married.'

Crap. Santana hadn't known about that, Quinn had clearly forgotten. Kurt hums half a tune, for a moment.

'Not exactly poker-face from the Ice Quinn, is it?'

Whatever. Santana turns the key in the ignition, she hasn't got time for this, she has places to be.

'She wasn't with it, Kurt. Infer what you want, but it would never stand up in court.'

* * *

><p>She heads for the hospital. It hadn't been the plan, but Quinn probably needs to know that things are in danger of spiralling out of control.<p>

The sun is shining still, and Quinn's room smells less like a hospital these days, and more like flowers and baked goods and hope.

(Santana worries that is maybe still does smell like a hospital, that maybe she's just gotten used to it and she will now forever associate the smell of hospitals with Quinn.)

Quinn grins at her, and either the happy meds are back or Rachel's just left.

'Oh hey. Wasn't expecting you. You want a cookie? Rachel made some. 'Get well soon' cookies'

Honestly, one day she will probably look back on this section of her life, and laugh with Brittany about how cute and clueless the entire thing was. But today the entire elaborate set up is grating at her patience.

'How are they different from her 'I'm sorry' cookies?'

Quinn frowns, and glances at the cookie that she is part way through.

'Umm. Less oatmeal, maybe? I don't know. I'll ask her.'

And then, Quinn actually reaches for her phone and actually makes to message Rachel about the difference between two identical batches of cookies, like Santana actually cares. It's hilarious, really.

'Q. I don't need to know. And you don't need to message Rachel the second she's left the building. She probably find an excuse to message you later on today, so play it cool, huh?'

The phone gets dropped slightly too quickly, and now Santana's got panicked angry Quinn to deal with.

'I don't know what you are suggesting and I forget the point at which I implied this was any of your business.'

The point when Quinn made it clear the Santana had to run around pretending that this obvious crush both parties are carrying around was in some kind of big secret, maybe? Because, honestly, the main point these days appears to be hiding from Rachel that Quinn likes her, and vice-versa, and that feels like a gigantic waste of time. She drops it though.

'Whatever. Look, Coach sent you a forest's worth of pamphlets entitled crazy things like 'So, you think your legs might drop off'.'

Quinn accepts the truce flag in the manner it was intended, and reaches out for the folder, shifting through the first couple.

'How to be a valuable member of society despite lying around in bed all day like a whiney baby? How to be in perfect physical shape, even if your emotional responses to potential weddings cause you to nearly kill yourself?'

Santana bites her lip in an effort not to laugh.

'Umm. Wow. They're specific. I think she means well. She said she's reserving your place on the Cheerios until you are better.'

Quinn nods vaguely, and digs a little deeper into the batch.

'Oh...kay. Actually, some of these therapy exercises look like they could be useful. Because... well, look.'

Santana glances to the end of the bed where Quinn is pointing, apparently at her wheelchair. But after a moment's confusion, she realises that Quinn is showing her something far better.

Her feet. Underneath the covers, Quinn's feet are wiggling back and forth.

Santana would hug her, but there's still the whole shoulder sling situation, but this is brilliant, this is fucking brilliant. She settles for swearing and holding up a hand for a high-five, which Quinn meets after a moment's eye-roll.

'Yeah, probably one of my proudest moments, waking up and realising I could do that this morning. My doctor says recovery still not might be complete, I might have slower reflexes, but if I work hard I should be able to walk again.'

This is awesome. _Awesome_. Santana's not going to cry or anything like that, but she's having to fight hard. Quinn smiles at her after a moment.

'You're doing better than Rachel at keeping it in check. I got tears, a promise of 'Congratulations!' muffins, and an abridged version of _There can be miracles_.'

Santana snorts, and then grins when she sees how wide Quinn is smiling at the memory.

'Oh geez Quinn, you are so gone over Berry, don't even lie to me. And Kurt has guessed as much, FYI, because when you were out of it you apparently managed to ask only one thing, and that was whether the wedding had happened.'

The horror of Quinn face makes Santana want to play nice, because god knows she wanted people to play nice when she had been getting to grips with what she had been feeling for Brit. So Santana flaps a hand to calm her down.

'Oh, don't fret. I told him it was just the meds, and you must have still thought you were rushing to get there. He bought it, despite your epic crush being available for everyone with half a brain to spot.'

Quinn looks down at her lap, but a smile creeps over her face and stays there.

'Shut up.'

Santana laughs again.

* * *

><p>They manage to talk about other topics for a while, about how Quinn's mom is the happiest Quinn has seen her in a long time, and whether Santana thinks Beth is the cutest kid alive.<p>

(She totally does, but she'll damned if she's going to say it, and her response of 'she ain't bad, considering the horrendous genetic disadvantage she has been saddled with' earns her a smack on the arm that actually hurts, but whatever. Worth it.)

Eventually, when Santana spots the sun is close to setting, she stands and stretches.

'I'll be going, before that crazy nurse comes to tell me I'm a toxic presence again.'

Quinn nods, and waves an arm around the room.

'Say farewell to my cell, then. Last time you'll see it.'

Hey, what? Santana glares at her, and this habit Quinn has of only telling her the important stuff in a passing comment is pretty annoying.

'You home tomorrow? Since when has that been happening? And when were you planning on telling me?'

Quinn shrugs the shoulder available to her, and looks away.

'I'm telling you now, okay? Mom's cleared out the office downstairs, and she says she can get a bed in there tomorrow, and the hospital have sent over a hoist thing that'll help me in and out of bed while I'm still figuring out how to stand. So they're moving me. I'll still have to come in every other day for physical therapy, but I think they probably want their bed back.'

'Cool, okay, well it is a Saturday, so me and Brit will come help your mom. You're lucky we'd allocated this weekend as a nothing weekend, usually we're way too jet-set to make last minute re-arrangements.'

Quinn worries her bottom lip with her teeth, and Santana feels herself eye-roll in anticipation of whatever is coming.

'Yeah, I don't really want people there. They're going to give me some drugs again for the move, not as strong, but enough to make me woozy, apparently. I don't really need the audience.'

'Okay, a world of whatever to that, because we are definitely coming now. Ring side seats to the Quinn show again? Wouldn't miss it.'

Quinn glares at her, which might make a tiny difference had Santana not already made up her mind.

'No, you aren't coming. Nobody is. Nobody else knows.'

'What? You haven't told Rachel? But her sad little face, Quinn, when she realizes you've been keeping secrets? You can hack that?'

Quinn does her weird little 'I am totally calm about everything that you just said' face, which makes Santana grin even wider.

'Continue with that line of questioning and I will ask the nurse to throttle you for me. They're very obliging.'

Santana shrugs, and starts backing out of the room.

'Whatever Q. Guess who managed to become best friends with your mom while you were being carved up by surgeons? Oh, oh, that'll be me. So guess who's going to pop round and see if your mom needs any help tomorrow? Also me. And Brit. We'll be seeing you and your alter-ego tomorrow. Read some leaflets; Coach will be proud.'

Quinn's yelling after her, but she ignores it.

What? It's not going to be long before Quinn can actually murder her for saying this sort of shit, she needs to make the most of these opportunities.

* * *

><p>Brittany stretches, and re-arranges her legs from her position on the couch that they'd just managed to wiggle into Quinn's temporary new room.<p>

'We should call Quinn's alter-ego _The Dazzler. _Because she was always grinning. Or _Qwakward_. Or... the _Wedding Destroyer_. Something epic sounding. Like she could be a Batman baddie.'

Santana grins while squeezing her bicep with her other arm absently, and holy shit that couch was heavier than it looked.

'Trust Berry not to get here until all the heavy stuff has been shifted. No doubt she'll just be here to greet Quinn with flowers and small talk about how brave she is. Though even if she does get here I still don't know how we're going to get the bed in, it's an oak frame. I just tried to lift a corner and nearly ruptured myself.'

Brittany hums, and tilts her head back until she's looking at the ceiling.

'We should put maybe a poster here. Or some photos of us, that'll make her feel good. And Mommy Q said before she went to hospital that some extra strong arms are coming in a bit, so that'll do it.'

The doorbell goes, as if on cue, and Santana yells down that it is open. After thirty second Rachel bounces in with what appears to be an armful of scatter cushions.

'Hello fellow room re-arrangers! Sorry I came a touch late, I had to wait for my muffins to rise.'

Brittany laughs really loudly for a moment, and then stops abruptly.

'Oh. Sorry, I thought you were making a sex joke.'

Santana snorts, and removes some of the cushions from Rachel's arms. Rachel gapes momentarily at Brittany and then appears to pretend it didn't happen.

'Well, wow. You've done an excellent job. A shame that the colour scheme is what it is, the walls of a office rarely translate smoothly into a relax and recover theme, but thankfully I had the foresight to come around last night and have tried to choose soft furnishing to compliment and lift the mood.'

Santana glances at the cushions in her arms, and then dumps them on the floor.

'Whatever. How much are you benching these days Berry? This bed won't move itself.'

* * *

><p>Berry seems to be benching no more than the weight of a kitten. Santana watches her tug valiantly at the corner of the proposed bed, and after a moment the frame shifts one inch closer to the door. Rachel straightens up, and dusts off her hands.<p>

'Well. It's a start.'

With Santana and Rachel tugging each corner, and Brittany shoving from the other end, they manage to get it to the bedroom way, but they'll need to tilt it on its side to get it through, and that's completely beyond what Santana and Rachel are capable of. Not to mention the challenge of getting it downstairs.

'Brit, when did Quinn's mom say the extra arms were coming? Because Quinn's getting here in half an hour, and this bed is essentially in Australia for all we can do.'

Brittany flexes her back, and squints at Santana.

'I'm not turning it upside down. Anyway, they'll be here. Mommy Q said that they were important people to Quinn, they won't let her down.'

Rachel goes a bit pale, and Santana suddenly has an excellent insight into what the future holds, which is backed up by the lumbering noise of Finn Hudson mounting the stairs with all the grace and elegance of a tranquillized moose.

'Hey, Puck will be up in a bit, he's just getting stuff out of the truck, so... uh. Oh. Hey. Rachel. Didn't expect...uh. Hey. Hi. Hello. Rachel.'

Well. This could be more awkward than even Santana had anticipated.

* * *

><p>They manage. Just. Rachel is voted the weakest and so not given a corner to shift.<p>

Rachel unfortunately seems to think she has been nominated as project manager, and channels her inner Ross while the rest of them sweat the thing down.

'Puckerman! Your corner needs to be raised by approximately thirty degrees to clear the banister, and then Brittany, if you oscillate gently so that Finn can get under and reposition... no not that hand Finn, your left...then Santana if you tilt and shove – mind the gloss work! People, it's like you aren't listening to me! That angle will never carry it through, it'll be wedged and Brittany will be trapped underneath and we'll have to call out the fire services and Quinn will have nowhere to lie down and if you'll just listen to me... oh. Oh, it went through.'

They all collapse in various shapes on the bed and floor, while Rachel informs them that it would have been much easier to do it her way and arranges some cushions. Finn looks like he is just mustering the breath to tell Rachel to shut up, when Rachel glances out of the window and full on meerkats.

'They're here. Quinn's here.'

* * *

><p>Aah, drugged up Quinn. Pretty much her all time favorite drunk.<p>

'What are all you guys doing here, don't you have babies and people with faces who you need to watch so they don't hurt themselves, I'm fiiiiine, way unimportant, go away.'

Puck pats her on the head, and nods at Quinn's mom, who's looking through the hoist instructions for the seventh time.

'Beth's fine. And we wanted to come supportively laugh at you. Mrs Fabray, I think that bit goes under her there, and...'

He gets interrupted by Quinn, who's flapping a hand at her mom.

'No. NO. I said no. This isn't a go activity. Santananana, you goddamn donkey, you weren't supposed to tell people, selling tickets, when I've remembered how to kick you I will kick you really hard. Don't look at me with that tone of voice B, she wasn't supposed to sell all these tickets.'

Brittany frowns at her, and after a moment Quinn pouts back, and oh, _why _didn't she think to record this?

'Quinn. You big drama eater. We needed to come over so we could move the bed, your mom couldn't do it by herself, she isn't Popeye. So shush.'

Quinn blinks owlishly at the bed, as if only just seeing it, and scans the room again.

'Fine! But, that bed only has four corners, and there are five of you here, so you really didn't need Rachel okay, because she is like Pinocchio, all tiny legs and arms, no strings but regardless...'

Oh. Unfortunate. Nose reference. Quinn seems to spot it after a moment, and flings out her hand towards Rachel, who's looking a little wobbly lipped.

'No, Rachel, nothing to do with your nose, your nose is fine, and is attached to your face which is also perfectly acceptable and like a cookie, a nice cookie, and ugh, San, I will murder you again.'

She may be having an asthma attack from not laughing, she can't tell. Rachel throws her hair around, and steps away from Finn, who had taken a shuffling step to her side when the Pinocchio line emerged.

'I can leave if you want Quinn.'

Quinn points at each of them in turn, and then points at Rachel.

'Look, look. You've made her sad, you morons. Pretend you don't know Rachel, then I can go 'surprise' when you turn up and that way none of this happened. This was supposed to be a no Berry scene. Too many Berrys here. Practically a smoothie. San, make her go. This is... I think Rachel should go.'

The hilarious now has an added touch of pathetic, and this is less fun, now, especially when Rachel gathers her things without saying anything beyond a goodbye to Quinn's mom. Which leaves them all staring at each other, as Quinn repeatedly presses her hand to her face and murmurs shush.

After a minute Finn takes a couple of steps to the door, and that rouses Quinn from whatever trance state she'd gotten herself into.

'Finn, you great big...tree, you stay here. Puck, you can do the lift-y thing now, if you drop me Jesus will punish you.'

* * *

><p>A bit later on, when Quinn's in and settled, Santana is making coffee with Quinn's mom in the kitchen, and is gently checking her sides to see if she has cracked any ribs from all the exertion and repressed laughter she's had to deal with today.<p>

'Thank you for your help today Santana. The bed was heavier than I expected.'

Santana shrugs, and cocks her ear towards Quinn's room, where Quinn is yammering on to Finn and Brittany about something.

'Any time. Quinn is our best friend.'

Quinn's mom stirs the coffee a few times, dragging her spoon around the edge of the mug.

'Although, I think maybe you shouldn't have told Rachel to come over. Quinn said some...surprising things on the way over from hospital, and I don't think she wanted Rachel to have to to help her out today. That may explain the bizarre reaction.'

Santana knows this, she pretty much had figured it out after Brittany poked her in the side while they were getting the rest of Quinn's stuff in and told Santana that'd she have to ring and apologize to Rachel for Quinn tonight.

She can't be rude to an adult though, not one who doesn't deserve it, and so she just shrugs and murmurs thanks, before heading to Quinn's room.

Brittany's eyes are basically saying _alert alert_ at her, and so she coughs and clears her throat.

'Finn, B, Quinn's mom's making drinks, go get. Now.'

Finn stands after a long moment, and then it is just Quinn and Santana.

'Santana. You...cow. Told you I didn't want Rachel here, you've made it all go wrong.'

Santana sits back on the couch, before digging underneath herself and removing a stray scatter cushion and lobbing it at Quinn's feet.

'Yeah. Possibly, but you'll survive. Sorry. Although you flipping out about her being here didn't help.'

Quinn wiggles her feet until the cushion falls on the floor.

'Shush. Don't want Rachel to be my nurse. Want her...differently. You clowns get to be nurses. Not Rachel.'

It's been a long day, so she'll let the clown comment slide.

'Whatever. That was Rachel's cushion you just threw on the floor.'

Quinn looks so horrified that Santana reaches down to scoop it up before she has an aneurysm.

'There. All fixed.'

* * *

><p>It's late, but she still hasn't mustered the energy to call Rachel.<p>

What to say? Sorry Quinn called you Pinocchio, pretty sure she was trying to not call you an angelic princess who lights up her world, in front of Finn, and so Pinocchio happened. Them's the breaks.

It's impossible, clearly.

As she's staring at her phone, it lights up with an entirely different caller ID, and this is unexpected.

'Finn?'

Finn's words come out in a big splurge, and he sounds vaguely frantic.

'Why does Quinn think it is her fault? Me and Rachel breaking up, I mean. She kept saying sorry, when you weren't there, sorry that we weren't getting married. Like she'd planned to stop the wedding. She kept calling herself selfish, even though Brittany tried to pretend she was talking about shell-fish, she was definitely saying selfish.'

Santana breathes out slowly through her nose, and she hadn't anticipated this one, doesn't have any form of back-up plan prepared.

'Santana? She didn't plan to stop the wedding, did she? You know her Santana. Tell me.'

Quinn would know what to say. Quinn's smarter than her. Quinn can deal with this one.

'Finn. Speak to Quinn in the morning. It's late. I'm asleep.'

There a thud in the background, that sounds an awful lot like Finn had just punched the wall.

'Santana! Did she plan to stop the wedding or not?'

The thing is, she's always been a terrible liar.

'She didn't plan to get in a car crash Finn. That's all I know.'

She puts the phone down on him, and suddenly Rachel is a far easier call option.


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks for the feedback guys. Enjoy (as much as the average Faberry shipper can enjoy reading Finn's thoughts.)**

* * *

><p>Yesterday had been a really weird day.<p>

So, Quinn's little 'I'm selfish' speech had been weird, he guesses, because it clearly wasn't Quinn's _fault_ that some truck had tried to go through the side of her. But he'd mainly just been confused about why Brittany had been so certain that Quinn was talking about shell-fish, because he knows Brittany's sometimes not on this planet but she isn't _that_ dumb.

But then, when he had gone to see Puck afterwards, mainly to ask him if he thought Finn had played it cool enough around Rachel, Puck had only wanted to know if Quinn had said anything unusual. And then when Finn had mentioned all the selfish stuff, Puck had done a lot of talking about how it probably wasn't what he thought it was.

Finn hadn't really thought about what he thought it was, up until that point, but had done a lot of thinking about what it could mean, on the drive back home.

By the time he'd gotten into his room, he had his suspicions. And when he'd called Santana, the catch in the girl's voice told him that this was a situation where two and two are definitely equalling four, no two ways about it.

Quinn had wanted to stop the wedding.

And, after a hell of a lot of staring at the ceiling Finn realized why, lying in his bed one inconsequential Saturday night.

It was the only possible explanation.

Quinn Fabray was still in love with him.

* * *

><p>He spends a lot of the next morning looking at himself in the mirror.<p>

Finn does some of his best thinking here. It was here that he thought up the name Drizzle, which he still maintains is a quality name _and_ would have given Quinn's kid instant credibility in the hip hop scene.

Plus, sometimes sorting out his hair is like meditation. Like those dudes who keep bonsai trees, and meditate while clipping at them.

He's not got to sort out his hair to date levels of tidy, because Rachel's not available, what with her deciding that they're over again, which is a wound that still hurts but he can't seem to stop poking at it. It's Sunday, which is his do nothing day, but Puck's decided on a bro-day out, which basically means lie about in Puck's back yard and drink.

He'd been pretty angry last night. He probably shouldn't have yelled at Santana like that. It's just... he feels like everyone is treating him like he is five years younger than everybody else, and keeping secrets from him is a totally normal thing to do. Like instead of just telling him that his hamster has died, they all pretend it has gone to a zoo on the other side of the country.

Finn re-adjusts some stray hair and then breaths in deeply through his nose, trying to do the thing Burt has taught him to do when he feels himself getting angry.

Focus on their side of the story. Nobody he knows is actually nasty, not really, so they must have their reasons for not telling him about Quinn's feelings for him.

He'd been stressed, and really bummed out over Rachel chucking him. Puck probably didn't want to throw a curve-ball at him so soon.

Santana and Brittany were Quinn's henchmen. So if they hadn't mentioned it, it'll be because Quinn had told them not to. Because Quinn didn't want him to know yet, because she felt bad that the wedding was off.

There. That wasn't so hard.

* * *

><p>He still wants Rachel, he decides on the drive over to Puck's. He's way too into her to suddenly switch sides the second he finds out Quinn is in love with him. Again.<p>

That's not to say it isn't doing wonders for his self-esteem, today. Finn flicks on the radio in his car, and sings along to the first song he recognises, drumming out the beat on the top of his steering wheel. By the time he gets to Puck's, case of beers under one arm, he's decided things are looking up.

The last time Quinn had wanted him back, it'd had somehow eventually made Rachel want him more. He doesn't understand the science behind it, but maybe things will work themselves to a similar conclusion.

Puck's already in the back yard, and yells for Finn to use the latch on the side gate to let himself in. Finn does as he's told, and he wasn't expecting Sam to be here, or Mike, or Artie.

'Oh, hey guys. Dunno if I have enough beers now.'

Puck waves him over from his spot on a sun lounger, where he's arranged himself so that his feet are resting where the head should go, and his head is dangling off the end. Finn pokes him with a toe when he reaches him.

'That comfy?'

'Not really, just fighting the norms of society. You know. The usual. Bros are here for a bro council. A council of bro. A bro-tervention. A... Sam, what was the one you said?'

Sam squints against the sun, and then points a vague finger at the sky.

'The Broracle. It's like the Oracle, but formed entirely of bros. Our whole is greater than the sum of our parts. We're like Transformers.'

Artie thumps a fist to his chest and solemnly announces 'Robots in disguise.' Mike leans over to high-five him, but can't quite reach and so just high-fives one of Artie's wheels, before pulling a few robot moves from his position on the ground, and oh. Finn sees what's going on here.

'Dude. Other dudes. How long have you been drinking?'

Sam stumbles to his feet, and removes the beers from under Finn's arm.

'Time has ceased to have any meaning. There is only now, and the choices we choose to take. So, Finn, you need to choose to get caught up. Alcohol will numb the pain.'

Pain? Finn thinks Sam might be talking about the whole Rachel leaving him situation, but that was like a week ago. The brotherhood of bro is a bit late. He pokes at Puck again.

'What?'

Puck frowns at him, and holds up a hand to try and shade his eyes.

'You know. Like, the whole... Quinn being selfish stuff. That shit. Santana rang me last night after you'd called her. Said you'd probably figured it out. So I thought, meet the pain head on, council of bro, we talk shit about everyone involved, move on.'

Huh. Puck has told Sam, Artie and Mike about Quinn's feelings about him. That seems... surprisingly disloyal of him, but at least if Puck's the one who's done the telling, Finn can bask in the glory guilt free. Finn takes the proffered bottle of beer from Sam's hand, and sits on an up-ended planter.

'Oh, right. Well, planning to stop the wedding was pretty crappy of her, not going to lie. But like, it's hard to be angry, I guess. She can't help her feelings.'

Mike gives him what feels like a supportive ankle squeeze from his position on the ground, and Artie tips his sunglasses at him.

'Dude. You are like, way mature about this. You are a hero. A shining beacon of light, for lesser dudes to follow.'

Finn shrugs his shoulders, but yeah. He guesses he kind of is. Emboldened, he takes a good couple of gulps, and laughs.

'Besides, they just seem to keep on coming back for more. I must be irresistible. Lady kryptonite.'

Puck's looking at him really weird. Maybe he doesn't know what kryptonite is.

'Uh, Finn? What are you talking about?'

'Quinn. Being in love with me again. It's kind of obvious, now I think about it. Telling Rachel not to marry me, singing that song to me, suddenly desperate to get to the wedding, just so she can stop it. She can't help it, clearly. I'm not going to hold it against her.'

They're all looking at him now, with really strange expressions on their faces, and wow, maybe he is being incredibly awesome about this, these guys just can't even process how chilled he is.

After a moment's pause, Mike breaks the silence by starting a really slow round of applause, which Artie and Sam join after the first three claps. Puck just groans and clutches both hands to his face.

Hangover must be kicking in early for him.

* * *

><p>Oh man. Being leader of the dudes is excellent. They all keep bringing him drinks and calling him 'His Royal Dude-ness', and laughing at all the jokes he is making, and man, he really needs to start writing some of these lines down, he's clearly hit a rich comedic vein.<p>

'Puck. Puck. You jealous? You not jealous, no? My heart is for Rachel, yeah? Even if Quinn wants the Finnceptor back, I'm not biting, she's all yours.'

The only downside of this afternoon is that Puck's hit his grumpy drunk phase.

'Finn. Seriously. I don't want Quinn. And I'm pretty sure she won't want you offering her up like that.'

Oh, whatever. He was just being friendly to his subjects, but clearly Puck's a bit touchy about this, so he'll be a good bro and drop it. Sam necks half his bottle, and punches Finn on the arm, kind of hard, really.

'Finnceptor? Finnception, maybe. Dream land.'

Finn laughs, because Finnception would be an awesome title for a movie about him.

'Yeaaah. Feeling that. Oh! Sam, Mike, do you think I look like a tree? Quinn called me a tree, yesterday.'

Mike chokes at bit on the mouthful of food he had just been swallowing, and Sam smacks him on the back a bit before speaking.

'A tree? Uh. Maybe? You're tall enough? If you fall in the forest when there is no-one around, do you make a sound?'

Finn shakes his head, hard.

'Nuh uh, my pain thresh hold is super human. Crying is for pussies.'

Artie wheels past him, shaking his head.

'This is awesome. This is way too awesome for words.'

Finn nods, because it sort of is, hanging out and being awesome with bros. Sam scratches at the back of his head.

'Well... maybe you're like an Ent. They're those tree things in Lord of the Rings that are a bit slow, they process things about ten times slower than anyone else, but they're really hard to kill. Their HP is through the roof.'

Puck flicks a beer cap at Sam, but Finn's okay with this. He's never claimed to be a genius, but being a tree that is impossible to kill sounds like an analogy that he can work with.

'Cool, cool, I can deal with that. And...uh, what's Rachel? Out of interest. I'm totally over her.'

Puck snorts, and Mike pipes up.

'Hobbit. Right, Sam?'

Sam nods.

'Right. Loyal, determined, capable of overcoming almost any obstacle placed in front of them, if the goal is worth it.'

That sounds...okay. Rachel would like that description. A thought strikes him.

'What's a hobbit's HP? Am I, like, more powerful than her?'

Sam blinks really carefully at him, and then nods.

'Speaking purely from a HP perspective, then yes, you are more powerful.'

'Awesome.'

That means he has to protect her. He's okay with that. Finn leans backwards, trying to catch more of the sun, until he gives up and gets off the wall he'd been perched on, and lies down.

He's kind of tired now. Being leader of the bro-team is hard work. He might just close his eyes for a bit. Just to block out the sun.

Sam's talking again.

'Now Quinn. She's like an elf. Freakishly good at stuff. Vaguely superior to the rest of humanity. Immortal. Impossible to not be a little bit in love with.'

Artie chimes in.

'Once in love doesn't fall out of it, no matter what.'

Mike laughs a bit.

'Anyone seen Quinn with a bow and arrow?'

Oh, jeez. They're all so drunk.

* * *

><p>He's not comfortable, exactly, but he is asleep, and so doesn't need a foot digging into his side.<p>

Finn grumbles, and tries to turn over, but he's met with a face full of grass and a harder kick.

'Finnception. Get up. Mom said that I shouldn't have let you just sleep, your face will be burnt.'

His face does feel a bit hot, actually. Finn levers himself up, and looks blearily around at Puck's back yard. The sun is setting.

'Where are the others?'

Puck stretches, and then scratches at his belly vaguely.

'Gone. Went a couple of hours ago. Time for you to go too. You're beyond my help.'

Finn drags himself upright, and whoa. Whoa.

'How much did I drink?'

Puck gives him the once over, and then claps a hand to his shoulder.

'Think it was the speed of drink that did you. You tried to catch up, but when you did you just stayed in the fast lane. Maybe walk home, dude. Leave your car here, it'll be alright. Walk it off.'

Finn shakes a leg gently, trying to get some feeling back into his butt. He's in that weird twilight zone between not really being that drunk anymore, but not yet reached full blown hang-over.

'Yeah. I'll walk. Actually...' a thought strikes him '...maybe I'll stop by at Quinn's? It isn't that far off route. That way things can be gotten out into the open, yeah? What do you think?'

Puck frowns at him, and then rubs a hand over his face.

'Yeah. Whatever. Might be for the best. Hopefully Quinn will straighten things out for you, fuck knows I don't seem up to it.'

Finn isn't totally sure what Puck's on about, but a yes is a yes, so Finn grins at him.

'Awesome. Plan. You're a really good friend, Puck, you know that? Really good.'

Puck grimaces at him a bit, and then punches him on the shoulder.

'Time will tell. Call me, yeah. Like, if you need anything, or whatever.'

Finn sticks a hand up in the air in response, but he's off, he's got some ground to cover if he's going to get home before the hangover kicks in.

* * *

><p>Quinn's mom answers the door. Quick, smart face.<p>

'Evening Mrs Fabray.'

You'd think he'd have a natural advantage over Puck, what with him being the one who didn't impregnate her daughter.

But regardless, all his cheery greeting is met with is a look that reminds him a _lot_ of his mom's face when one of the cats brings in a dead mouse. Which is a bit unfair, when he compares it to the friendly little chat he saw Puck and Quinn's mom have yesterday.

'Is Quinn in?'

Quinn's mom blinks at him a bit, and his brain catches up with his mouth, and oh yeah. Of course she's going to be in.

'I mean, I was hoping to come visit her?'

Quinn's mom steps to one side, and waves him in.

'Goodness knows I'm not her keeper. She'll tell you, no doubt, whether she wants to see you.'

Finn nods a cautious thanks at her, and reminds himself that he isn't here to gloat, or to raise Quinn's hopes, or whatever. Thank her for her interest, and let her down gently. Easy.

Quinn frowns at him really hard, and maybe the emotions are a bit raw for her to deal with at the moment, but no helping that now.

'What's happened to your face?'

He touches his nose automatically, and ow, okay, he must be really burnt.

'Oh, umm, been out in the sun a bit today, with Puck. Uh. How are you?'

Quinn rolls her eyes, and goes back to the cell phone in her right hand.

'Dandy. Just great. Trying to clear up the mess Santana created yesterday, by inviting around a massive audience to watch me make a fool of myself.'

Finn shrugs a bit, and then flexes his shoulder joint around, trying to work out some of the stiffness developed through napping on the ground.

'Nah, your mom invited me and Puck around. Well, she asked Puck if he could come help and bring a friend, and he brought me. Anyway, it is no big deal. I don't mind that you were acting a little crazy.'

Quinn pretty much just punches him in the face with a glare, and that'll be why maybe he and Quinn aren't super compatible. She terrifies him.

'Why on earth do you think that you are the important person in all this? And, while I'm on the subject, why are you here? I have no bulky furniture that needs moving.'

Don't panic. Don't panic.

'Well, uh, I thought you might want a visit. Because, um, I know we haven't been that close recently, but we've always been around each other, and so I guess there are certain emotions that...'

Quinn, without removing her gaze from the phone on her lap, holds up a hand to stop him, and he abruptly runs out of consonants.

'Finn. Be useful. I cannot believe I am about to ask you this, but... whenever you did something wrong with Rachel, how did you get her to forgive you?'

He's pretty damn confused about the abrupt and random line of questioning, but plays along gamely.

'Singing something at her, usually. Or telling her that I was really sorry for everything that I had done that could have possibly caused offense. Even then there was usually a twenty four hour radio silence.'

Quinn frowns at him.

'Singing something at her? Are you insane?'

Finn shrugs defensively.

'Hey, she likes singing, okay? It worked a few times.'

Quinn rolls her eyes, and goes back to her phone, and maybe this is the opportunity for the rehearsed speech he'd tried to memorize on the way over.

'Anyway. I'm just here to say that I know, okay? I know about you trying to stop the wedding, and I know your reasons why, and I am one hundred percent okay with it. Like, I still love Rachel, but in another life I think you and me probably make a really good go of it, and get to our old age without you killing me. But I don't think that'll happen in this life. But we should still be friends, okay? I still care about you.'

Oh god. Oh god. She's not taking it well. That look never signals good things. If she could walk he probably wouldn't make it out of this room alive.

Mercifully, her phone lights up, and that at least postpones the brutal murder Quinn is planning out, because she snatches it up like a life line.

It's not what she's expecting though, because her face falls, and then transforms into a look of total confusion.

'It's Puck. He says that I shouldn't explode at you, even though you are an idiot.'

Oh man. Puck might have just saved his bacon. Quinn puts the phone down, and breathes in really deeply through her nose.

'Fine. I can't be doing with all the pretence anymore, anyway, the entire thing is on the verge of blowing open, one more witness to my pathetic state is neither here nor there. Finn. Listen carefully.

He does what he is told to do, scooting closer to convey total focus. Quinn looks into his eyes.

'I was planning to stop the wedding. But not because of my feelings for you. I have no feelings for you beyond tolerance.'

Quinn sits back, clearly believing that she's made everything really clear for him, and Finn's going to need a few more clues here.

'Riiiiight. Okay, cool. No feelings for me, but you tried to stop the wedding because...'

'Because I didn't want you to end up as another statistic, mainly. And because...I couldn't not do something.'

Again, he's pretty confused.

'Yeah, going to need more here, Quinn, because I know you don't care that much about numbers so...'

Quinn's phone lights up again, just as she looks like she's about to throw it at his head, and this time is apparently is the message she wants, because her whole face relaxes and her next words are sighed rather than spoken.

'It's Rachel. I... what does _I will speak to you in the morning _mean?'

Oh, that one's easy.

'Just that. She'll come around, or ring you, and then list why you're a nasty person, and then if you apologise enough she'll forgive you, so I wouldn't...wait.'

Finn frowns at Quinn's phone, and then at her face, which now looks vaguely guilty. And, wait, what? This isn't... what? How is this even... what the hell?

Quinn tips her chin back, and meets him head on.

'Figured it out, have we? Good, now you can stop telling people that I'm in love with you, no doubt you've had a field day.'

What the hell?

Finn stands up really quickly, and yeah, maybe he is pretty tall, but that doesn't stop him from feeling the stupidest, smallest person alive right now.

'You were stopping the wedding because of... because of Rachel? Because of how you felt about Rachel? What the... oh god, no. What the hell?'

Quinn flares her nostrils at him, and his face is burning up now, this is all horrible, as he feels various bits of the last few weeks bounce and swirl in his mind, and click together to form a picture he'd never ever considered. Ever.

'Yes, Finn. Not that it is any of your business or impacts on your life in the slightest. I have feelings for Rachel. I'm pretty sure she doesn't return them though, so maybe we should bond over all this brand new common ground we've discovered.'

Okay, he may be the world's biggest idiot right now, but even though the fog of what feels like an actual heart attack, he can tell that Quinn is in the running for coming second.

'Are you even serious, right now? Fuck... you're the reason she's called off the entire god damn thing, Quinn! Oh god, why didn't I see this? She's been obsessed with you for forever, and suddenly you figure out how to turn on your nice setting, and suddenly...this isn't fair, Quinn! How am I supposed to keep her if she thinks you're available?'

Quinn looks a bit shocked now, either at all of the white hot truth that is spilling out of his mouth or that fact that he's shouting.

'She likes you, dammit! That's why it's over, that why she wouldn't marry me, that's why Kurt can't look at me, that's why Puck's been so weird today. She likes you, and every other fucker seems to know except me!'

Mrs Fabray's head appears around the door frame, looking alarmed, but everything's fine, he's leaving anyway, before he suffocates.

He's gone.

* * *

><p>Finn doesn't check his cell until he's standing outside Puck's house, deciding whether to throw a shoe at Puck's window or just call him.<p>

There's a message from Quinn.

_I didn't know either. And I AM sorry, Finn._

It nearly causes him to throw his _phone_ at Puck's window, but Puck's already opening the door, and jogging out to meet him, in sweatpants and bare feet.

'Dude. Dude.'

He's angry, he's so fucking angry.

'I get it, okay! She told me, and you all had a right fucking laugh at me today, but now I'm never going to get Rachel back, because I'm nothing, I'm nothing compared to Quinn, just a massive stupid tree who can't talk smart words and...'

Puck grips both of his arms and squashes them together, tugging Finn forward for a hug that never normally happens but Finn can't really escape from, so he just punches Puck a couple of times in the stomach before collapsing into tears that sting, actually sting.

* * *

><p>'You know how you said once that Quinn is like a lion, really pretty to look at but fucking scary up-close?'<p>

Finn kicks at a pebble, and watches it bounce down the street. They've been sitting out here for nearly an hour now, long enough for Finn to consider apologizing for punching Puck, because it really isn't his fault.

(He's got a sneaking suspicion that this is going to turn out to be nobody's fault. He can't tell if that is going to make it easier or harder, in the long run.)

'Yeah. Think that was when I was trying to figure out how to dump her.'

Puck nods, and throws his arms around himself briefly, clearly trying to warm himself up.

'Well. I've been thinking, since all this started going down, that Rachel's the closest thing to a lion tamer that I know. She's smart enough for her, passionate enough, brave enough, and burns bright, man. You know this. Quinn always needs to feel like she is worth something, and Rachel's the only person who has enough fire to convince Quinn that she is always worth something. It was kind of inevitable that it would end up this way. Rachel was always going to be drawn to her.'

Finn grits at his teeth, but he feels like that king now, the one who tried to hold back a tide. If Puck is backing them, then he really does need to find a different fight.

He tries though.

'But what about Rachel? Why does Quinn want Rachel so much?'

Puck squints at him, and then smacks him lightly around the head.

'Dude. You're the one that was going to marry her. You know what Rachel's got. But, I dunno. I think if Quinn is being honest, there's never been a time when Rachel hasn't be massively important to her. She showed it in some pretty fucked up ways, but it was always there, if you were looking hard enough.'

Finn looks up at the stars, or where the stars would be if the street lighting wasn't so bright.

'I can't change this, can I?'

Puck grips one of his shoulders hard, and it is the closest they ever normally come to hugging, in times when Finn doesn't feel like his world is collapsing. And maybe it isn't. Maybe it doesn't have to.

'If you want happiness for people, _including_ yourself, in the long run, I think this is the time you back off.'

Finn runs both hands through his hair, and stands up.

'You're a good friend, Puck.'

Puck grins at him once, and slings an arm around his neck.

'You know it. Come on, stay at mine tonight. You've got some CoD stats of mine that you need to seriously improve, anyway.'

...


	13. Chapter 13

**This is not so much a chapter, but rather an extended love letter to the powerhouse of awesome that is Mercedes Jones. Thanks for your thoughts and feelings guys, I'm glad you are enjoying the story.**

**(Someone asked if I'm British. I am. Let me know if I'm making any blatant Brit-speak errors; I hope I'm not bad enough to need an US based editor, but telling me helps me improve. So far I have learnt that they probably wouldn't say reckon, or whilst, and that squash doesn't exist in the US! :))**

* * *

><p>Mercedes looks so disappointed in him, it's awful. He goes for his best puppy dog eyes in the hope that it will soften the blow.<p>

'I'm sorry. I tried. Please forgive me. I'll do anything.'

Mercedes rolls her eyes so hard Kurt wonders if it possible for a person to strain something up in there.

'Okay, Hamlet, leave it out. You are incompetent, I get that. Rachel is still not giving you any details.'

Kurt nods, and picks up the big Lima Bean mug in front of him, taking a gulp that'll hide his slight lie, hopefully. Mercedes squints at him a bit, and then sits back, holding up two hands.

'And you haven't exactly been pushing her for details, have you, huh?'

Foiled. Kurt places his mug down carefully, and shrugs.

'No. I mean, a bit, I'm worried about her. But I'm not forcing her. In the same way that you aren't marching over to Quinn's and interrogating her.'

Mercedes tears a bit of her blueberry muffin off with her fingers, and pops it into her mouth with a sigh.

'We're too nice Kurt. Look at us, not pressurizing our friends into telling us everything about what they're feeling for our own entertainment. We're practically saints.'

She holds up her hand for an ironic high-five, (which is actually quite a difficult gesture to achieve, he's always been impressed by her talents for body language) and he meets it with an unenthusiastic palm.

'We're amazing. Yay us.'

Mercedes grins, and waves a hand around vaguely.

'I think we're dealing very well with the fact that everybody else seems to know a hell of a lot more than us.'

Kurt pushes vaguely at his hair, and then taps his fingers lightly on the table.

'Let's review the facts, shall we? Quinn wakes up asking whether Rachel is married. Rachel breaks it off with Finn, causing much wailing and gnashing of teeth in the Hudson-Hummel household. Rachel says something horrendous to me that has possibly scarred me for life about awakening sexual desires, so there is clearly something there beyond _new best friend_ territory. Santana refuses to tell me anything, which blatantly means she is hiding something, which blatantly means Quinn has said something to her, you go around to visit Quinn a few times, and she is all sappy and soft whenever you mention Rachel...'

Mercedes nods firmly, and interjected.

'Mmmhmm, seriously, I nearly called in an exorcist, it was that out of character.'

'...and then Finn calls me late last night, demands to know how long I've known that Rachel is in love with Quinn, before going all sad and resigned and what he probably thinks is noble, about the whole thing.'

Mercedes holds up a hand.

'Wait. You know, I know, Brittana knows, if Finn knows Puck knows, Sam said he knows, which probably means the other boys know, which means keeping it a secret from Tina is ridiculous because Mike has almost certainly told her... who doesn't know?'

Kurt clasps a hand to his head.

'Rachel doesn't know that Quinn likes her. Quinn doesn't know that Rachel likes her, apparently, and the rest of us are left running around like some insane Greek chorus because Santana will probably murder the first one of us who breaks and just shoves the pair of them into a cupboard until they make out. It is _exhausting._'

Mercedes pulls a face at him, and takes a gulp of smoothie.

'Why would Santana murder anyone?'

After watching a crowd of people enter the cafe, just to check whether there his anyone he recognizes, Kurt snaps his eyes back to Mercedes.

'You know, I wouldn't be surprised if that lot of strangers didn't know about Rachel and Quinn, at this point. But anyway, from what I can interpret from Brittany, and this was a conversation and a half, let me tell you, because Brittany's pretty baffled, Santana thinks it'll be better for Quinn, for both of them, if they figure it out for themselves. We are to play a waiting game. They'll get there, according to Santana.'

Mercedes snorts, and then chuckles a bit.

'Oh my... this is really bringing out Santana's soft side, isn't it? She clearly thinks all gay romance has to be drama filled and epic.'

Kurt coughs loudly.

'Excuse _you._ Yes, it does. You wouldn't understand, being part of the repressive straight majority that ruins my life on a daily basis.'

Mercedes gives him a look that says _borderline, Kurt Hummel_, and Kurt throws up a hand in an apologetic gesture.

'Anyway. Anyway. We have to have patience. Siege mentality. Rachel will come to us eventually. We're like her best friends, _and_ I'm her go to gay. It'll happen.'

Mercedes blinks carefully at him, and Kurt finds himself reading her mind.

'Patient, Kurt? Patient? Were Rose and Jack patient on the Titanic? No, because that goddamn boat was sinking. Did Simba and his lady friend be patient? No, even though Timon and Puma said to be. Were Romeo and Juliet patient? No... although granted they both died, that'd be depressing, but basically, I ain't doing patient. They're going to different cities at the end of summer, they ain't got time for patient. Neither have I. Neither has Brittany. No. Kurt Hummel, patient doesn't suit us. We are gonna be pro-active. Actively pro. You listening?'

God, he loves her. He salutes.

'Plan of action, Commander Jones?'

She cackles at him.

'I don't know, do I? We need to seize opportunities. Improvise. That stuff.'

Kurt smirks, and takes another sip of coffee.

'Got it. Pro-active. You want another muffin?'

Mercedes squints at him.

'Yeah... I might need the energy. In case of an opportunity that needs seizing. Pro-actively.'

* * *

><p>They continue to be pro-active for the rest of the day.<p>

They pro-actively browse the shops. They pro-actively have lunch together. They pro-actively try out a new hair product for Kurt, and pro-actively compare and contrast for texture and hold.

On the way home, Kurt's phone vibrates against his side. He checks the message, and then clutches at Mercedes' arm.

'Oh my god. Mercedes. It's happening. Quick, fan me, I'm going to hyper-ventilate.'

Mercedes flaps a hand in his face.

'Tell me what's happening Kurt, or this'll turn into a slap.'

'Rachel, it's Rachel. Asking me to come around. No doubt for advice on how to seamlessly make the transition from friendship to love with minimum opportunities for rejection. This is it, we have to...Mercedes, I don't think you can do a U-turn here, I... _Mercedes!_'

'This is what pro-active looks like Kurt!'

A horn blares at them, but they survive.

* * *

><p>They arrive at the Berry house, slightly dishevelled but otherwise intact, within seven minutes of Rachel sending the message.<p>

Dapper Dad answers the door. Kurt's got this covered.

'Can I just open by saying your shirt is perfect, Mr Berry, perfect, really makes the hazel in your eyes just sparkle, may I enquire where you purchased such a divine article, and by the by enquire whether your daughter is available for visitors, at this point in time?'

Mercedes cuffs him around the head lightly.

'Hi Mr Berry. Excuse Kurt, he's had a little too much coffee. Is Rachel in?'

Dapper Dad waves them up, spare hand smoothing down his shirt vaguely.

'Hello you two. Upstairs. She's been in her room all day, try and get her to snap out of it, will you?'

Mercedes pro-actively mounts the stairs like an invading army, leaving Kurt trailing in her wake.

'Rachel? Rachel. We here for you, you summoned us and we are here, fairy god-mothers, literally in some cases, ready to process and pore over minute details of half-remembered conversations, and... girl, why the hell have you been crying?'

* * *

><p>Oh, sweet baby Jesus.<p>

Quinn had made a nose joke.

Rachel normally might have been a bit perturbed about the speed with which both Kurt _and _Mercedes managed to materialize at her side, but the appearance of new people to cry at and tell how betrayed by she feels by Quinn seems to give her a second wind.

'She called me Pinocchio, Mercedes. _Pinocchio_. And then she told me to leave, told Santana to make me leave, and didn't even mention all the scatter cushions I'd brought around, despite me bedazzling some of them with quite intricate patterns, and why does she still not like me Kurt? We were getting along so well, and now it's all horrible, and she didn't want me there!'

Mercedes is sat next to Rachel on the bed, humming supportively and mindlessly passing her tissues at ten second intervals, all the while eyeing Kurt with clear _this is not going to plan _signals.

Kurt clears his throat.

'When was this, Rachel?'

Rachel pouts at him, and absentmindedly passes a very damp tissue back to Mercedes, to the girl's open horror.

'Yesterday. She came home from hospital, and a few of us had gone around to move furniture, and help her get settled in, and Santana and Brittany and Puck and _Finn_ were there, but she only told me to leave! I'm less important than all of those other people to her, and she thinks my nose is enormous.'

He's all ready to be pro-active, but he has no clue in which direction to be pro-active in. Mercedes coughs abruptly.

'Oh, that reminds me. Kurt, didn't you say you had to speak to Santana, about something totally important and crucial and it really couldn't wait? Yeah. You go do that now, okay? We're okay here, huh Rachel?'

Rachel nods with the saddest little face on her, and takes another tissue.

'Oh yeah. Sure. Tip top. Bring me some ice cream on your way back up Kurt, or I might die of feelings.'

* * *

><p>Normally, he'd never consider ringing Santana out of the blue, but they're on the same side here, as far as he can tell, and that should be enough to instigate some kind of cessation of hostilities.<p>

'Kurt. Are you in some kind of dire jeopardy, and nobody else picked up? Because otherwise I cannot imagine what you want?'

Kurt finds himself whispering sharply, glancing up at the Berry house from his position on the far side of Mercedes' car like he is on some kind of covert op.

'Santana, cut the crap for a moment. Rachel is having an extended meltdown over how Quinn treated her yesterday, and I'm struggling to see the reasoning behind it as well. I need some kind of explanation or leverage, before I go back in there, or Rachel's going to convince herself that she was hallucinating the entire connection between them.'

Santana mumbles something that sounds vaguely offensive in Spanish, and then swears.

'Shit, I'd called her yesterday after it happened to try and explain, and she sounded fine. And I _know_ Quinn has been messaging her like a crazy thing all day.'

Kurt rolls his eyes, a luxury he only uses when Santana _can't _see his face.

'Well, probably, Rachel is damn used to putting on a brave face for you guys and pretending that she is a robot without feelings because all of the terrible stuff that you used to pull back in the bad old days, when the pair of you were probably allowing your internalized gay-fear as an excuse to make everyone else's life a misery. But me and Mercedes have a really upset Rachel here, so she needs someone who isn't automatically on Quinn's side no matter what to try and smooth things over. And that person is me, so spill.'

Santana doesn't say anything for a moment, and Kurt really needs Santana to come through on this one, because otherwise he has no idea what to say to Rachel.

'That was uncalled for, Hummel.'

'Whatever, Santana, whatever. Water under the bridge. Just tell me what happened yesterday.'

Santana heaves a really big sigh.

'Fine. They'd given Quinn some of those crazy meds again, to help her with the shift in locations and any discomfort, so she was on drunk ramble mode. She'd told me the day before that she didn't want Rachel there, Quinn had wanted to surprise her, and I think she was probably also worried she'd say something obvious to Rachel about how epically over-blown her love is for Frodo the Bedazzler. But I'd ignored it because I thought a few drugged up declarations of love might get things moving a bit, you know, so we can drop this whole pantomime. _But then_ Finn turned up to help, and Quinn tried to act normal in front of him whilst also getting Rachel to leave, and so instead of calling Rachel a beautiful fragile precious flower who must not be tasked with furniture removal, Rachel got called Pinocchio instead.'

Oh. Ohhhhh. It would almost be funny, if Kurt didn't know how hyper-sensitive Rachel still was about her nose, despite a thousand re-assurances. Santana continues,

'I'm almost certain she didn't consider any nose link at all. She just wanted Rachel to not see her in a pathetic state. And she apologized, she's apologized loads. She feels terrible, if it helps.'

Kurt rubs a hand over his face.

'Apologies by text message almost never work Santana, you're a girl, you should know that.'

Santana bites back, sharp.

'Yes, I know that, you misogynistic little twerp. What do you want me to do, air-lift Quinn to the Berry house? Rachel needs to go see _her_.'

Kurt huffs slightly.

'Well how do I do that?'

Santana growls vaguely.

'I don't know, you're the self –proclaimed Rachel Berry expert. Improvise.'

She hangs up with that, and Kurt looks up at the Berry house, tucking his phone into his back pocket.

Improvise. Be pro-active, Hummel.

* * *

><p>'Kurt, though I appreciate that I did request ice cream, I didn't actually mean I would die without it. I don't think it was necessary to bundle me out of the house in such a manner, nor was it necessary to demand I change my clothes. I was comfy in those pyjamas. They have owls on them. I'm in a fragile emotional state, Kurt, and those owls were sympathetic. Mercedes, tell him those owls were sympathetic.'<p>

Mercedes smirks really big from the privacy of the driver's seat, and then nods sincerely.

'Yes Kurt, you terrible man. Those owls understood Rachel's plight in a manner we could never hope to, how dare you insist she changes out of them for a trip to the store?'

Kurt holds up a hand in apology. Rachel grumbles a bit in the back seat, and then continues.

'You're doing your, 'we'll supportively mock you until you see sense' routine. I suppose that's fine, you two have the emotional depths of a self-centred puddle, I wouldn't possibly expect you to get an accurate handle on how I'm feeling. But my other point is that I really didn't need ice cream this ardently, and you aren't even going to the correct store, there's one way closer than this... wait, there isn't even a store down here, what are you...'

Mercedes allows her car to roll to a halt outside Quinn's house, and cuts the engine. She glances at him, and Kurt shrugs. Mercedes shrugs back, and then gasps loudly.

'Oh no. I'm lost. Maybe I should ask someone around here for directions, Rachel, do you know anyone who lives around here who maybe could help us in our hour of need?'

In the driver mirror, Kurt watches Rachel slowly fold her arms.

'I can tell you are acting Mercedes, your delivery was entirely unconvincing. And I know what you are doing, and the answer is no. I don't want to see Quinn so she can tell me I have a wonderful career ahead of me as some kind of sundial.'

Kurt opens his door, and treads carefully over to Rachel's side. When he opens the door for her, Rachel stares resolutely ahead, ignoring the fact that he is _right here_.

'Rachel.' Nothing. 'Rachel. Oh for goodness sake, just get out of the car will you?'

'Kurt, I really don't want to see her. I was... stupid to think that there could be anything between us, and it will just be embarrassing and horrible and awkward if I go in.'

Kurt glances once at Mercedes, who closes her car door gently and steps next to him.

'Rachel, I will just drag you in if needs be, don't test me.'

She gets nothing from Rachel but a wall of silence, and maybe it is time to start showing some of his hand.

'Look Rachel...I asked Santana about what happened. Quinn was as high as a kite when she called you Pinocchio. And she just meant you were small and cute apparently, she didn't have any malicious intent. She didn't think you were going to be there. It threw her.'

Rachel doesn't do much beyond toss her hair about a bit, so Kurt presses on.

'And Santana tells me that Quinn's been texting apologies all day, which your tunnel vision seems to have ignored, but... in fact, give me your phone.'

Rachel glares at him.

'No.'

'Rachel, give him your damn phone or I will pick you up and throw you through Quinn's window myself.'

Oh goodness, their good cop bad cop routine is spectacular. Rachel sighs a bit, but hands over the phone after a moment. Kurt flicks to her inbox, and there, evidence for the whole world to see.

'Rachel the last...twenty six messages you've received have been from Quinn. And, let's pick one at random... _Rachel, you know I'd never want to hurt you. It was completely unintended and I'm so sorry it upset you, just please...'_

Rachel snatches it back off him, and it's a relief, really.

'I'm sorry Rachel, but does that sound like someone who has been secretly laughing all along at your _perfectly normal_ sized nose? To me, it sounds like someone who, if they were as mobile as they normally are, would have been knocking down your front door to try and apologize. So get down off your high horse and let her apologize, okay? This is just us facilitating communication.'

Rachel frowns at them both a bit, before slowly unbuckling her seat belt.

'Okay, okay. It's just...I keep telling myself I must be missing something, because she can't possibly like me in the same way that I like her. I don't know if I can be just friends with her. Maybe it'll be for the best if... if the whole Pinocchio comment becomes the reason we just switch back to being civil?'

Mercedes looks like she's about to crack and state the obvious to Rachel, that Quinn likes her just as much, but Kurt throws a hand over her mouth just in time. Because maybe Santana does have a point, maybe it should be that they find out from each other.

'Shush Mercedes. And Rachel, get in the house. Let Quinn at least get her apology said in person, and then you can take it from there.

* * *

><p>Well. This is nice.<p>

Kurt smoothes his hands over his thighs from his position on the couch in Quinn's room, and casts wildly around for something to say.

'Rachel, you were correct, the bedazzling on some of these cushions is the work of an insane genius. Emphasis on insane.'

Nothing, he gets nothing back. Rachel is sat on a chair in the far corner with her arms crossed, staring at the wall. Quinn is glaring at the pair of them as though she is trying to figure out which muscle to flex that'll allow her to throw fireballs at them with her eyes.

Alone time. They just need some alone time, because while Quinn keeps glancing at Rachel every two seconds, clearly imploring her to read her mind for the sincere apology, she isn't going to say whatever she want to say in front of an audience.

Kurt makes to stand, but Mercedes grabs his knee joint really hard, and he almost collapses.

'We're staying.' She grits it out without moving her jaw at all, and then relaxes and looking blithely at Hurricane Quinn.

'Quinn. So glad to see you out of hospital. You've made so much progress, it is amazing. We do enjoy being witness to your progress. We'd very much like to see it continue. And, a little bird told us that you wanted to see Rachel today. So here, she is, all safe and sound, supported by her friends and the people who she would value as witnesses to any big, significant steps in her life. Proceed.'

Kurt had forgotten that Quinn had lived with Mercedes for a while, during the height of her pregnancy dramas. Maybe that'll explain the impenetrable Quinn force field Mercedes has developed, because after a moment of totally silent rage, Quinn face relaxes, and she shrugs.

'Oh, whatever, there's no escaping your incredibly invasive disregard for a concept known as privacy. Rachel, come here a bit, will you?'

Rachel doesn't move, and after a moment Quinn tuts at her.

'Rachel, if I wasn't a cripple I'd be coming over to you, just, accommodate me a bit here.'

Rachel relaxes by a notch, and moves her chair half an inch closer. Quinn rolls her eyes and beckons her closer, which Rachel eventually complies with, the really severe frown on her face in place because Kurt knows that otherwise she'd be smiling.

'You aren't a cripple Quinn, don't be ridiculous.'

Quinn half smiles at her a bit, and glances at Kurt, and okay, he doesn't feel totally ignored.

'I know that, but I might as well play on it with every chance I get, don't you think?'

Rachel mumbles a little bit, and looks at her fingers. Mercedes reaches for Kurt's hand and clutches at it, and popcorn, oh why didn't they think to bring popcorn?

Quinn clears her throat awkwardly, after just observing Rachel a moment with the softest look on her face, and speaks.

'Rach...you aren't going to get the full version of this, because I can't quite shake this weird sensation that I'm being watched by lunatics, but... your nose is perfect. I don't think there is the slightest thing wrong with any of your face. I don't think that there is anything about you which you have the slightest reason to be self-conscious about, which is why my ridiculous drugged up self thought that Pinocchio was a good idea. I seem to have very little control, and hardly any filters, when I'm on those meds.'

Kurt hates to butt in, but he does so anyway, because there isn't a better time for Rachel to find this out.

'True. That first time, when we went to Quinn's room Rachel, when you weren't there Quinn achieved consciousness for about two seconds, and the only thing she asked was whether you were married or not.'

Rachel blinks at him, looking like a puppy faced with an impossible algebra problem, and Mercedes continues.

'And Rachel, one time when I went to visit Quinn she tried to dictate to me a list entitled 'Reasons why Rachel Berry is perfect', and got really angry with me when she felt I wasn't contributing enough points.'

Quinn abruptly goes crimson, and Kurt can tell that Mercedes is going to pay for that one later, but worth it, totally worth it. He gives her hand a little squeeze of approval, and Quinn looks away from them, and clears her throat again.

'Right, well, I didn't know that last one, but there you go. Clearly not the actions of someone with any filters.'

Rachel looks at Quinn with eyes that are just offering up the world, right now, and Quinn bites her lip and reaches hesitantly for her hand. Rachel's hand goes so far, and then stops.

'What do you think you were putting on the 'Rachel Berry is perfect list', out of interest?'

Oh, bravo, Rachel. Exquisitely played. Rachel's smiling at Quinn now, slightly challenging look on her face, hand just out of reach. Quinn rolls her eyes a bit, and stumbles on her words.

'Um. Well. I don't know. Probably that you're a really good singer. Uh...'

Quinn glances at Rachel, hopeful, but Kurt could have told her that it would be nowhere near enough. Quinn seems to realize this after a moment, and she will have to commit to this, really commit.

'That you're the kindest person I know. That you made me feel one hundred times better whenever you came to see me. That you challenge me, and frustrate me, in the most astonishing ways, but I wouldn't change any of it. That your smile is one of the most beautiful things I've seen. That I'm desperate to meet your dads, so I can tell _them_ how amazing you are. That your vegan muffins are horrendous, but I'd happily eat them for the rest of time if you'd make them for me. That your hand feels perfect in mine.'

Oh my god oh my god he might actually cry. He might actually start weeping in the face of possibly the most lesbian announcement of all time, and what the hell is this creature that Rachel Berry has somehow managed to turn Quinn Fabray into?

There's a moment, a long extended moment in which he panics that Rachel might just mount Quinn's bed and consummate their marriage right there in front of him, and then he panics even more that some small part of him appears to be surprisingly okay with that, but thankfully, _thankfully,_ Mercedes clears her throat really loudly.

'You missed a few Quinn. There was... hang on... her hair is like a beautiful waterfall of chocolate silk, the faces she pulls when she is singing remind me of my favorite pokemon, her ability to say a million words at once make me want to write them all down and keep them, her chin is as perfect as the world's most perfect chin... do you want me to continue?'

Quinn glares at her, and the moment is lost.

'_No_, Mercedes, I think Rachel has got the general point.'

Mercedes squeezes his hand once, and nods serenely.

'Okay. You're welcome.'

Rachel just laughs, and Kurt watches as she reaches for Quinn's hand, and cradles it in both of her own.

'Thank you. That was... thank you.'

She's murmuring, and Kurt can tell it isn't really for anyone other than Quinn, and this is the point that Mercedes stands, and pulls him upright with her.

'Well, we're just going to go check on your mom Quinn, check if she needs any furniture moving or whatever the hell happens in the Fabray household, so we'll leave you to it for a bit.'

Kurt gets dragged hastily out of the room, but they could have done the conga out for all the attention that gets paid to them.

In the hall way, just before they enter what looks like the kitchen, Mercedes turns to him, triumphant look on her face.

'And that, Kurt Hummel, is called being pro-active.'

He has to agree, but before he can gather himself, Mercedes leans forward, and punctuates each point with a jab of her finger to his chest.

'Mercedes Jones. Gets. Stuff. Done.'

He loves her. Their children will be flawless.

* * *

><p>After half an hour, Rachel emerges, and if Kurt didn't know any better, he'd say that she was pregnant, because she is glowing, just glowing.<p>

Mercedes abruptly drops the dish cloth that she had been aimlessly wiping kitchen-ware with, and bellows a hasty goodbye to Quinn's mom, who is in the other room.

'Out Rachel, to the car, let's go, move your skinny ass, hup hup hup, _bye Quinn!_ out out, start planning your de-brief now because the second you, me and Kurt get back to your room you are telling us everything, understand?'

* * *

><p>'Nothing. I'm sorry, are you kidding me? Nothing?'<p>

Rachel sits serenely on her bed, and smoothes away a small rumple on her comforter.

'Well, we did talk about the schedule for Quinn's physical therapy sessions. Apparently, because they had to put a plate in to reset her collar bone and shoulder blade, it'll take her a bit longer than expected to get up on crutches, but hopefully by the end of this week, with a few meds for the pain, she'll be up. You see, they like to get people moving as soon as possible, to avoid the whole area freezing up, and so...'

Kurt growls at her.

'Seriously, Rachel. We just instigated the most romantic moment of your life, and you are telling us that nothing happened after it?'

Rachel holds up her hands, and laughs a bit.

'Okay, okay. I might have mentioned that I thought she was really sweet, and that I was really happy that you two forced me to come around. And we did talk for a bit about, um, how maybe Quinn would like to take me on a date, some time. When she's all fixed.'

Kurt throws his hands up in the air in celebration, whooping. Mercedes takes a more direct approach, and tackles Rachel backwards onto the bed into a hug, and Kurt, after a moment's brief consideration, follows suit.

'Guys, guys! Okay, Quinn will actually murder you if you suffocate me before we go on a date.'

Kurt rolls sideways, and grins at her.

'Did you kiss? I need details. Not like, detailed details, but details nevertheless. Spill.'

Rachel looks away from him, shy.

'No, we... don't look at me like that Mercedes, its true... I think we both sort of want it to be perfect, you know. Not just after an apology, when Quinn's still stuck in bed. Even if it was the most perfect apology of all time.'

Mercedes mutters a bit to herself, and levers herself up-right.

'Ugh, don't take too long about it, I don't think I can stand the tension, I... Rachel, that's your phone.'

Rachel bolts for her bag, and scrambles through it until she can see the caller ID. She hisses at them.

'It's Quinn, shush...'

Kurt places a finger to his lips in a solemn promise, and just watches as Rachel twists on her heel slightly, and turn away from them.

'Uh... hey. What's up?... Ummm, no, that's not weird, I sort of miss you too...'

Mercedes abruptly mimes vomiting into her hands, and Rachel smacks vaguely at her arm before reach up and legitimately beginning to play with a lock of her hair. Kurt rolls his eyes, and grabs her arm, tugging her out of the door.

Their work here is done.


	14. Chapter 14

**The end. Taking things any further would be self-indulgent, I think - the story's been told. Thank you for reading, leaving your thoughts, feelings, and general encouragement. You've all been lovely, and I've enjoyed myself. I think I quite like it here, I'd like to stay, if you'll have me and my occasional Brit-speak failing.**

**(As an aside, thank you to Glee for showing me that I needn't have worried about trying to make Quinn recovery process accurate, because they clearly weren't that bothered about it either!)**

* * *

><p>If this had ever been about happy endings, Quinn is pretty sure that it shouldn't have been a car crash that set things in motion.<p>

Because she's started having dreams now, dreams that she really hopes aren't memories, that stab their way into her subconscious and furnish her already over-heated imagination with sounds, and smells, and the sickly feeling of her own blood running down her side.

The only assurance that Quinn has that they are dreams is the presence of Rachel's gentle voice in the far distance, reciting wedding vows that Quinn knows for certain were never spoken.

Just a dream. Just a dream. Even when she wakes up sweating in the half light, in her half bedroom, scream just caught on her tongue.

When her heart stopped hammering in her throat, she stretches to her side, and reaches for her phone on the side table. Six twenty seven a.m.

Quinn indulges herself for a moment, and scrolls through her inbox, re-reading the messages she's received from Rachel since the evening Kurt and Mercedes turned up with Rachel in tow, and forced Quinn's hand.

She'd never tell them, _ever_ in the case of Kurt, who would probably organize some kind of 'I was right' victory parade and march it up and down in front of Santana's house a few hundred times, but things had been (wonderfully, astonishingly) better, since she'd held Rachel's hand and essentially said, in an embarrassingly lump of words, that she thought Rachel was pretty much perfect.

Quinn rolls her eyes slightly at herself, because she's _Quinn Fabray_, she doesn't do feelings like these. But they're there, nevertheless, squeezing her chest tight and improving her day by incremental margins, every time she allows herself to think of Rachel, which has been increasingly often since Rachel had said everything Quinn had needed to know by reaching for her hand with both of hers, and stroking a small repeated circle into Quinn's palm with her thumb.

One of the best things is that Rachel no longer comes around every day, so Quinn doesn't have to feel completely pathetic in front of her, but instead, at Quinn's request, says all she needs to say on the phone. It had been quite hard to explain her reasons, without being completely full on and saying something like 'I don't want your memories of the start of whatever we are going to be dominated by you seeing me in an invalided state.' Ultimately Quinn's stumbled explanation that she didn't want Rachel to have to be her nurse, far from it, seemed to have done the trick. Rachel had smiled softly and murmured back that she didn't want Quinn to be her patient, not really, and that had been that.

It is the thought of Rachel's smile, and the remembered pressure of Rachel's fingertips on her skin, which tips her over the edge, and she taps the call button.

Rachel's greeting sounds fuzzy with sleep, and Quinn immediately regrets calling, because it was only a nightmare and she could have comforted herself, given enough time.

'Hey Rach, sorry, I wasn't thinking, it is way too early to be calling, I'll let you sleep.'

Rachel must shift, and stretch against her sheets, because the noise Quinn receives in reply is part sigh, part moan, and Quinn is _really_ glad Rachel can't see her face, because she can feel a blush starting.

'Mmmph... hey, don't worry about it... I think I might quite like you waking me up.'

Quinn is rapidly learning is that Rachel seems to have no limits to what she says when she's just waking, or just going to sleep. She half laughs, and allows herself to imagine Rachel, wrapped up and sleepy, in bed. She hears her voice lower in response.

'Well, it wasn't the intention, but I'm glad you like it. Anyway, it was nothing, I just had a stupid dream again, so...'

One of reasons Rachel might be pretty much perfect is because she doesn't ask for details, just grumbles sympathetically and changes the subject.

'Ugh, another one... maybe your session today is playing on your mind... how are you feeling about that?'

Scared, if she's honest, because it is another test that she doesn't know if she will pass or fail, and being able to waggle her feet is all very well, but she hasn't stood up, or put any pressure at all, on her legs for almost five weeks, and Quinn's sure the transition won't be easy.

'I don't know, really...I don't think anything dramatic will happen after one session.'

Rachel seems to sigh at the truth of it, and Quinn can hear her padding across the room and then opening wardrobe doors, and smiles at how normal it feels, to listen to Rachel do normal things and have a normal conversation.

'You should never rule out dramatic outcomes Quinn, I like to imagine every hypothetical scenario to any event so if the unexpected does occur, I have an appropriate response prepared.'

Quinn snorts slightly, and lies back in her bed again, staring at the ceiling.

'You're insane, though, so...'

She can't hide the grin in her voice as she says it, and Rachel giggles a bit in response, before faking outrage.

'Well, just because some people can't appreciate the importance of fully analysing their emotions before reacting to a situation... have you decided what you are going to wear?'

Quinn lets the comment slide, (she can tell at some point she is going to receive a small heartfelt lecture about not nearly getting oneself killed because of sudden, last minute decision making) and instead glances over to the pile of clothes that forms her temporary wardrobe.

'Umm... no? Shorts and a t-shirt, maybe?'

Rachel clucks, apparently exasperated that Quinn hasn't given much thought to her attire for her first physical therapy session.

'That'd be satisfactory, I suppose, but I've been reading up on the process of re-learning how to walk, and a great deal of emphasis is placed on the individual's state of mind, and the importance of having a winning attitude towards this, and so I felt it would be crucial to wear clothing that you associate with success, in order to give you the best possible chance of making a full recovery, clothing that you are used to winning in, and therefore, despite any reservations you may have about it, I really do feel that...'

Quinn can see where this is going, and presses a hand to her face, gasping out a laugh.

'Rachel, I'm not going to physio wearing my Cheerios uniform.'

'Quinn! Be reasonable for a moment, that uniform doesn't restrict your movements, gives easy access to any parts of you that the physio person feels the need to examine for muscle tension...'

'Oh my god, stop talking, nobody is examining any of my parts today...'

'For muscle tension, nothing sinister about that, you have to demonstrate to them that you are an athlete, willing to push yourself to achieve success, oh and that reminds me, I've created a playlist of motivational songs and have linked you to them, so I thought maybe you could have them playing in the background in order to achieve the appropriate ambience?'

Quinn's ribs are hurting.

'Rachel, okay, please stop talking, my mom is sleeping in the room above me and I'm going to wake her if you keep making me laugh.'

Rachel huffs a bit at her, and then giggles.

'Fine, if you don't want my expert advice then...'

'Rachel, you can't Google your way to expert status. Just because you like picturing me in my cheerleading uniform doesn't mean...'

'_Quinn Fabray!_'

It's a good morning.

* * *

><p>Her good mood almost lasts. Right up until the point the therapy starts, and Quinn realizes how completely useless she is.<p>

It is somehow made worse by the fact that her mom is irritatingly up-beat about the whole thing. It takes Quinn an afternoon -the entire session- to figure out the combination of moves and technique required to ensure that she can now (limply, pathetically, like some beached seal pup) lever herself from her bed to her wheelchair, without any assistance.

Her good arm nearly cramps up on the journey home from the energy required, and Quinn feels like crying, at how hard everything suddenly is and will continue to be for the foreseeable future. And her mom is flicking through radio stations and humming along to every recognisable song like Quinn has just been awarded a Noble prize.

She wasn't even this happy when Quinn had received an offer from Yale, and that thought sets off a whole other host of questions that Quinn doesn't have the answer for, until the walls of the car start closing in and everything aches in a reflected memory of pain that her doctor says isn't real, but still _hurts._

Quinn shifts, trying to find comfort, but because she's tired, and not concentrating, she tries to use the arm that's still in a sling, the one that is supposed to stay as still as possible while her shoulder blade knits itself back together, and that sends another flare of pain through her, and she hisses, trying to fight it.

Her mom seems to notice, and reaches over to squeeze gently at her knee, and it is almost more than Quinn can take.

'You're doing so well Quinn. I'm really proud of you.'

Quinn bites her tongue to try and not laugh, but can't stop the tears that squeeze themselves free.

* * *

><p>She's always been healthy. She's always been fit. Even when she was about to pop with Beth, even when all of Lucy's puppy fat just wouldn't leave, she could still move. She could still dance. She could still take care of herself.<p>

Having her wheelchair pushed around by her mom is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened to her, and she's been plenty humiliated in her life.

All of the embarrassment solidifies when Quinn realizes, through the haze of exhaustion and discomfort, that Rachel, and two friendly looking men who could only be Rachel's dads are waiting on their front porch, bunch of flowers being proffered towards them.

This isn't good. Quinn's mom presses a kiss to the top of her head (she hates that) and murmurs something about how she thought a celebration might be appropriate, given how well Quinn is doing. And all Quinn can think about is how selfish her mom is, wanting to flaunt her new-found sobriety to her new found friends, and how she suddenly, desperately, needs to be by herself, to get rid of the hospital stink and her grubby clothes and to sleep, sleep until she's fixed.

One of the dads smiles kindly at her, and Quinn can't quite look at any of them in the eye, not with the state she is in, but this dad feels the safest option.

'Hello. Your mom thought the month anniversary of your return to consciousness was a worthy excuse for a small celebratory gathering.'

He seems pleasant enough, and is charming enough to almost carry off one of the most macabre excuses for a congratulations she's ever heard.

Quinn tries though, mumbles a thank you and pushes some limp hair out of her eyes, but she feel disgusting, and this is not how she wanted to meet Rachel's dads. Hers eyes fill with tears at the thought (her emotions are out of control at the moment) and Rachel's other dad smiles sympathetically after a second, before speaking to her mom instead.

'Now then, Judy, my husband here has made a chocolate walnut cake which is crying out to be accompanied by a latte, if there is one available?'

From the way Quinn's mom laughs delightedly before she answers, Quinn can tell she's overjoyed with her new section of her social network.

'Of course, how kind of you. If you'd just like to follow us through to the sitting room, and then we can all sit down and get to know each other a bit better.'

She tries. Quinn's been trained well, there are certain social conventions that she is loath to break in front of her mom, but Quinn really isn't sure if she can cope with the pressure of speaking to Rachel's dads for an extended period of time when she is feeling (and smelling) like this.

'Mom, can I not... go make myself look a bit more presentable, and then I'll be with you?'

If she can just get to her room, she can fall asleep, or at least pretend to, and because Quinn is still an invalid that would be acceptable, and that means she can meet Rachel's dads when she can give a better account of herself.

Her mom presses another kiss to her head (she _hates_ it) and squeezes her good shoulder in a manner that she probably believes is indulgent.

'Of course sweetie, and I'm sure Rachel won't mind helping you, come on Rachel, take over navigational duties.'

Rachel catches her eye, silently asking for permission, and Quinn grits her teeth and rolls her eyes, as if to say 'let's get this over with.'

* * *

><p>It's not Rachel's fault. Quinn knows this, even as she motions for Rachel to shut the door after them, but it doesn't stop Rachel from launching into an apology speech the second they're closed off from everyone.<p>

'Quinn, I'm really sorry, your mom called up my dads and invited them when I was at school, and so when I got home I pretty much just got flung into the car, they've been dying to meet you for ages, but I should have tried harder to make sure we didn't get here, look, I was looking up symptoms of meningitis on my phone, but the drive was too short for me to get fully into character and so...'

Quinn holds up her hand and smiles weakly at her, before gesturing at the heap of clothes on her floor.

'It's okay, just...do you think you could pass me a clean t-shirt from there? I probably don't smell too good.'

Rachel picks up one hesitantly, and Quinn nods, stretching to take it from her. She tosses it on the bed next to her, and starts the long process of getting rid of her old shirt. Rachel starts talking again, far too quickly.

'If you want I can leave, I don't want to encroach on your privacy in anyway, I know the shock of seeing us all stood there like the von Trapps must have been difficult, so if you need me to leave and eat cake with your mom that is one hundred percent fine, not that I _want_ to leave, you understand, but I want to respect your wishes of non-nursing and so whatever you feel you need from the current situation is yours to request, I am totally accommodating to whatever at this point.'

Part of the difficult process of removing a t-shirt with only one arm available and the other in a sling involves a fair bit of tugging at hems with teeth, and Quinn drops the mouthful of fabric with a grunt and a roll of her eyes.

'Rachel, I don't need, or want to you to leave. Just...do whatever, for a moment, and then I'll have got this sorted.'

Rachel twists her fingers together for a second, but in the time it takes for Quinn to get the thing over her head and then re-emerge the other side, Rachel's suddenly taking a great interest in month old get well soon cards. There's a blush starting on Rachel's cheeks, and Quinn feels like telling her that she's only in a sports bra, that she's used to people seeing her in this, but she doesn't want to make Rachel feel awkward, and so just smiles to herself and eases the new shirt over her head.

After another few moments, she's left her sling arm still inside the shirt but everything else is as it should be, so Quinn clears her throat in a gentle suggestion that Rachel's display of chivalry can end now.

'So, um. I don't think I really want to go back out and do small talk with your dads, if that's okay? I sort of want to be perfect, when proper introductions happens.'

Rachel blushes again, and Quinn swears, she's not trying to make Rachel feel uncomfortable, or whatever is happening. She reaches for her bed and pats it, motioning Rachel to sit down. When Rachel is in touching distance, Quinn rubs a hand over Rachel's knee, squeezing gently.

'Hey... sorry about my complete failure to behave normally on the door step. I've had a bit of a rough day.'

Rachel scoots a bit closer, and tucks some hair behind her ears, biting her lip.

'Don't be silly, I'm just embarrassed at how eager my dads are to come and stare at you. I did tell them that you wouldn't want...'

Quinn shushes her with another squeeze, and tries to joke.

'Well, it is only understandable, I'm sure you have told them how amazing I am, they clearly couldn't keep away.'

Rachel grins softly at her, and then ducks her head down, hiding her eyes, and okay, now Quinn's blushing.

They haven't kissed yet. Quinn's made a small resolution to herself (one that gets increasingly harder to keep, every time she sees Rachel) that kisses should only happen when Quinn doesn't feel pathetic anymore, the idea of Rachel kissing her in her wheelchair seems to clash violently with whatever bizarre logic she's applying to the situation. Something about the idea of equal footing appeals to Quinn, and so far Rachel's done an excellent job of reading her mind, because Quinn hasn't felt pushed, or pressurized, at all.

But she wants to kiss her. So much, that sometimes she feels like she is made entirely of eggshells, and one glance or word from Rachel will have her fragmenting and opening up and taking whatever Rachel will give her, wheelchair or not.

Rachel meets her gaze after a second, and Quinn's line of thinking must be written clearly in her eyes, because it would be an awful first kiss, the angles all wrong and she still feels gross from the physio, but she wants it so much, so much she could turn inside out from need, so much her fingertips shake from their static position on Rachel's knee, and tremble with want.

Rachel glances at her lips once, and then reaches a hand down to press firmly at Quinn's hand, before standing up and stepping across the room, letting out a big shaky breath.

'So...tell me how physio went.'

Quinn blinks a few times, and shakes her head, trying to clear the fog, and spins in her chair slightly, enough to grab Rachel's wrist and squeeze once in silent gratitude.

'Well, no dramatic miracles, I'm afraid. I learned a new trick though, look, I'll show you...'

* * *

><p>It takes her three goes to get successfully on the bed, but it isn't half as annoying as doing it in front of her mom, who would step in and help the second it seemed as though Quinn was struggling. Rachel hangs back, and watches, with only the gentlest of encouragement passing her lips, until Quinn's made the trickiest shift, now it is only about getting her legs up where they should be, and she feels bold enough to start a bit of a running commentary.<p>

'See, now, my legs are still pretty non-responsive to big shifts, but if you can tell, it's not like they're being completely unhelpful anymore, they're trying to do the right things, I can feel my muscles straining at the right moments, the doctors think that's really good, so I've just got to be patient, and have a, ...what was it? A winning mentality and approach. So uhh, I didn't wear my Cheerios uniform but I did wear the underwear that goes with it, if that makes sense. Winning underwear.'

She gets herself settled on the bed, and looks over at Rachel, smiling. Rachel's got the oddest expression on her face, and just as Quinn starts to worry that the mention of her underwear has caused Rachel to short circuit again, Rachel stands and approaches quickly, pressing a kiss to the side of her head before Quinn can react.

'I'll never say this again while you are recovering because I've got a feeling you'll hate it but, I am _so proud_ of you, and how you're approaching this. You're amazing.'

Quinn's got no response to that, other than a stammer, and Rachel takes advantage of her silence to arrange herself cross-legged at the bottom of her bed, and smile at her.

'Anyway, seeing as we've got a bit of time to ourselves, Santana has told me that Coach Sylvester has designed an excellent therapy routine with some really well thought out, personalized pamphlets to aid your recovery, I'd love to see them if you've got them available?'

Seriously. The second her legs are back under her control she is going to kick Santana's ass so hard she won't be able to sit down for a week.

* * *

><p>The tiredness catches up with her quickly, after the initial embarrassment of watching Rachel sift through the literature Coach has given her (at one point Rachel just held up one of them with a really serious look on her face; the one entitled <em>So, you think texting while driving is a good idea, huh? Think again RoadKill.') <em>and Quinn finds herself fighting off sleep, sooner than she expected.

Rachel's talking her way through some of the more sensible advice Coach has given her, and Quinn is quite happy like this, drifting off to sleep with Rachel's voice in her ears, Rachel's warmth pressed up next to her feet, Rachel's hand gently rubbing at her ankle.

She hears her mom voice, maybe, and Rachel's warmth and smell shifts closer, and there's a soft hand smoothing down her cheek, and Quinn thinks she may have hummed in response, but maybe not.

* * *

><p>After two more therapy sessions, Quinn invites Rachel along.<p>

This is supposed to be the one that Quinn shifts from the supported walk machine (basically an adult version of the strollers toddlers are put in when they're first learning to walk) to crutches. The sling on her arms has been removed, and though she doesn't have full rotation in her left arm yet and things still feel a bit tender, her collar bone is all set and she's good to go.

Quinn's informed she'll get meds for the discomfort _after_ she's invited Rachel to come support her.

And...this could go one of two ways.

* * *

><p>'I feel like a horse with eight legs. Or, um, an octopus. But heavier, octopus always look really floaty and light, but I feel really heavy like a horse. Or a land dwelling, giant octopus.'<p>

The meds are enough so that her shoulder isn't yelling its head off at her, but that also means that they're enough to make her say all the things that got her into trouble the last time. She re-focuses on Rachel, vital message to deliver.

'Rachel. Rach. I don't think you look like Pinocchio. Or any other in any way non-aese...non- athethetically...non-pretty creatures. And, um, once my legs stop jellying, I'm going to take you somewhere and maybe build some kind of castle slash monument as a tribute to how amazingly, amazing you are and...ow, stop.'

The nurse who keeps poking at her backside with something that may or may not be a cattle prod grumbles at her a bit, and prods again.

'Ow!'

'Stop moaning Quinn, it doesn't hurt, just stop talking and follow instructions.'

Outrage. Quinn finds Rachel, who's sitting in a plastic orangy chair on the other side of the room, and gives her a look specially designed to invite her to share in her outrage. Maybe it doesn't work fully, because Rachel appears to laugh a bit, before smoothing her face over and standing to join them.

Oh yeah, had she mentioned that yet? Standing. Altitude of the regular world; achieved.

And, well, hurting, but more from the fascist nurse woman than anything else.

Honestly, such a fuss. She doesn't need to walk, Quinn could just stand, and things could come to her. _As it should be._ There will also be platters of things, maybe celery sticks and vegan dip, she isn't sure, and Santana can be her secretary, while she signs things. Standing.

Rachel's talking. Focus!

'Quinn, she isn't attacking you. You're just not paying any attention to her, she's trying to get you moving.'

'I'm taller than you. Just like it used to be.'

This is apparently old news, from Rachel's face.

'Yes, well done. You also used to be able to run faster than me, which will now tragically never be the case as you have decided that you don't want to try walking.'

Quinn has a sneaking suspicion that some elaborate reverse psychology is being applied to her, but she really isn't that bothered because maybe this would be a good time to kiss Rachel, and her perfect face, for the first time ever.

Quinn leans forward, and Rachel steps backward, and Quinn only just...just manages to right herself.

'Rachel Berry, you need not to move all the time like some hyper-active lemming with a completely normal sized nose, I could have died! Actually died.'

Rachel is there, just out of reach, and Quinn heaves a really big dramatic sigh, in order to communicate to everyone present that this is entirely unfair, and squints really hard at her four legs.

Right crutch, right foot, left crutch, left foot. There.

When Quinn looks up, Rachel's moved again.

'Rachel! This is not hide and seek, just, stay there, this time.'

Again. Crutch foot crutch foot.

Rachel hasn't moved, but is still just out of reach, and Quinn's getting tired now.

Crutch foot crutch foot.

A marathon. A complete marathon, but it's okay, because Rachel's got her, is holding most of her up, as the nurse scrapes a chair across the floor until Rachel can tip Quinn down into it. And Quinn still wants to kiss her but remembers again that she's horribly sweaty and tired and uncomfortable, so maybe another day.

She settles for running a tired, sore hand through Rachel's hair, as Rachel crouches between her knees.

'Hey, hey, you're perfect. You're a perfect person. Which is lucky really because soon I'm going to be perfect again, and then we'll be perfect together and... don't cry, oh god, I'm sorry I called you a lemming.'

Rachel smiles at her, and reaches for the hand Quinn was running through Rachel's hair, and presses a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

'Happy tears, babe. They're happy ones.'

* * *

><p>The next time Quinn sees Rachel, it's the following afternoon and she's remembered how to be sane.<p>

Her mom seems to make a point of launching into a really loud and random speech outside Quinn's door before letting Rachel in, about how glad she is that Rachel is being so supportive of Quinn, and how happy she is that Quinn's got such wonderful people in her life. Quinn interrupts her after a moment, in case it produces a similar response from Rachel and the two of them just end up soliloquizing about their feelings. She yells through the door.

'Okay Mom, we all get it, you like Rachel. You don't have to keep telling me!'

Her mom opens the door with a flourish, and they're both there, her mom looking ridiculous and Rachel looking vaguely affronted.

'Quinn, never interrupt someone who is telling me I'm marvellous, it's just common coursty.'

Quinn rolls her eyes and throws one of Rachel's cushions at her head, before staring pointedly at her mom.

'Bye, mom.'

Rachel replaces the cushion carefully, and sets down what looks like a rather large amount of bags for what was supposed to be a 'quick visit'.

'You haven't made vegan muffins again have you? Because I haven't finished the last batch...'

Rachel snorts at her, and leans down into her chair (not her wheelchair, Quinn is trying to spend as little time as possible in it, these days) to hug her hello. Quinn manages to hug back, with one strong arm and one weak, but it still counts.

'No, you ungrateful oaf, I have not made muffins, you have made your feelings about them quite clear. It's mainly stuff from school, actually, forms to fill in to do with Yale, like we talked about yesterday.'

Quinn blinks at Rachel carefully, and peers at the bag that seems to contain a number of folders.

'What did we talk about yesterday? I don't remember that conversation.'

Rachel shrugs and tugs the bag over towards them, and starts setting folders out on Quinn's desk.

'It was pretty late on, you were probably tired after all of your announcements about feeling like a horse and accusing the friendly nurse of assault.'

Quinn grimaces.

'I'm pretty sure I apologized as we left.'

'Yes, you apologized that she had a face like a horse. I think you were mixing your similes up at that stage.'

Oh, great. Quinn groans, and covers her eyes.

'I believe I asked you to never to refer to the things I say when I'm on meds.'

'And I believe I refused to make such a limiting promise. Anyway, on the way back you were mumbling about Yale, and how sad you were that you wouldn't be able to ignore their wheelchair ramps in the Fall, and I may have filled in a few gaps, so I went to Miss Pillsbury this lunch time.'

Quinn raises an eyebrow at Rachel, and flips open a folder curiously, reading the first page in silence. Rachel stumbles on after a moment.

'I appreciate that you may think I'm over-stepping the mark, but it would be foolish to pretend that the accident, and your time off school, isn't going to potentially affect your exam results. So, um, there's quite a few forms to fill in, and doctors have to sign things as well, but your situation qualifies for special dispensation. If you want it.'

If she wants it. Quinn frowns at the paper work, and flicks over another page, biting absent-mindedly at the tip of her thumb. After a minute or so, and Rachel seems to decide this was a bad idea, and starts gathering folders together. Quinn reaches for her wrist, stopping her.

'Hey. Leave them. I'll think about it. I'll speak to my mom, and... think about it, okay? Thank you.'

Rachel looks away from her, blinking away tears that Quinn is pretty sure she didn't cause.

'Sorry, it's just, I'm selfish, I don't want this to stop you getting what you deserve.'

Quinn stares up at her for a moment, and then rubs a thumb over the back of Rachel's hand.

'What's that then? Reasonable commuting distance to New York?'

Rachel bites her lip and looks down at her, and Quinn's heart unexpected jumps with nerves, because it is the first time either of them have mentioned anything tangible about the next year, about what happens next. Rachel just hums, after a moment, and re-arranges their hands so she can squeeze Quinn's.

'Among other things... but yes, that.'

There's a moment, but Quinn looks away deliberately, and Rachel's other bag.

'That isn't another bag of folders, is it? Because I'm not very good at forms.'

Rachel laughs at her, and drops her hand, stepping toward them.

'Oh no, this was the other thing you agreed to on the way home...'

* * *

><p>'Define agreed, Rachel.'<p>

Rachel carefully produces a sweatband that matches the one she herself has recently donned, and wiggles it onto Quinn's head without asking.

'Well, I said, now that you have movement, and muscle strength is going to become an issue, maybe you should start working our way through the exercises Coach Sylvester gave you. And then I thought maybe I should accompany you with them, as a bonding exercise. And you definitely made a noise that sounded like yes.'

Rachel leans back to observe her handiwork, and Quinn can tell the sweatband is askew on her forehead. Rachel's expression takes on the look of someone trying not to laugh, and Quinn frowns at her, biting the inside of her cheek to not smirk at how equally ridiculous Rachel currently looks.

'Shut up.'

* * *

><p>The first exercise they attempt starts with them lying on the floor. It's a bit of a struggle to get down there without just deliberately falling off her chair, but Quinn makes it, and then wiggles herself over to where Rachel's waiting, feet resting against the flat of the wall, frowning at the instruction that she's holding above her head to read.<p>

'It says that this is good for the Quadriceps Femoris, as well as the muscles in your backside, which are the basic ones required to walk, so we'll start with these.'

Quinn looks over at her from her horizontal position, taking in the gym kit Rachel has chosen to change into for the exercise.

'Can I just clarify, before we start, that I think you are insane.'

Rachel flaps a hand dismissively, as if to say _yes yes, I know, _and puts the paperwork to one side.

'Right, we're suppose to walk our legs up the wall, shifting forward with each step, until we get to vertical with our backsides against the wall, and then back down again. Apparently, you will probably need to use your arms to lift your legs for the first few repetitions.'

Quinn grunts in recognition, already aware that her legs feel far too heavy for the routine, and jerks forward to lift, concentrating on keeping her legs straight so her feet stay pressed to the wall and don't just crumble down on top of her.

She gets, after about a minute, to a foot and a half off the floor before gravity is too much.

'Fuck.'

Rachel matches, and slides up to the starting position.

'Awesome, that was good. So, it says one minute recovery time, and then we start again.'

* * *

><p>It's brutal, back breaking work.<p>

Quinn manages forty five minutes of it, with sweat pouring off her, and never quite reaches vertical. On her last attempt she's only a couple of steps away though, and can feel the muscles in her thighs and butt straining with the stress.

She's completely out of breath, and waves a hand to indicate that that's it, enough. Rachel wiggles her way up, and Quinn can tell she isn't even having to breathe hard, that this is a complete doable exercise for anyone with normal control of their bodies.

The thought makes tears rise, and she presses the heel of her palm to her eyes to try and prevent them. Rachel sees though, and reaches for her, running her fingers over Quinn's ribcage in a soothing gesture.

'Hey, hey. You're doing really well.'

Quinn grumbles at the ceiling, and then removes Rachel's hand.

'Not well enough though. None of this is going fast enough, and I'm missing out on everything.'

Rachel looks really confused, and Quinn clarifies a bit.

'I'm missing out on you. I'm missing out on being normal with you.'

Rachel half laughs, and runs a gentle hand down the side of Quinn's cheek.

'I'm right here, Quinn. You aren't missing out on anything.'

She is though. The ache is back, the need to press her lips to Rachel's, and to hell with the consequences. Quinn looks at the ceiling, avoiding temptation.

'I...I really want to kiss you. All the time. Every time you look at me, or smile at something that I've said. But I don't want to be like this when it happens. I don't want our first kiss to be me straining my neck because I'm in a chair, or you having to lean down. I just want us to be equal, and it feels ages away.'

Rachel's fingers tremble a bit on her cheek, and Quinn shuts her eyes.

'It... it won't be that long Quinn. You're making so much progress and...'

Rachel trails off, and eventually Quinn turns her neck to look at her again. Rachel blushes suddenly, and looks away, as if a thought has just struck her.

'We're pretty equal now, huh?'

Quinn's eyes widen, and she feels the slow burn that flickers inside her whenever she is around Rachel double, start tearing up her insides.

'Rachel, I'm sweaty, and disgusting, and on reflection I'm not sure when Mom last vacuumed the floor because the noise annoyed me the last time she tried, so...'

Rachel reaches for her hand, tangling her fingers.

'Do you really think I care about that? Because, I don't know about you, but I feel like I'm slowly going crazy from being with around you but not being able to kiss you, and I've never been very good at being patient...'

'Rachel, it's, it should be perfect for you, it should be...'

Rachel rolls her eyes, and when did they get this close?

'Who says it won't be perfect? And, how on earth is it that you're the one doing too much talking in this scenario? Our track record indicates...'

To Quinn, it is almost as if something breaks inside her, and she reaches to close the gap, meeting Rachel's lips with hers.

It's soft, too soft almost, and Quinn just stays there for a moment, before remembering how to breath and tilting her head and kissing Rachel again.

Rachel mumbles 'cheater' into Quinn's lips, and Quinn feels her mouth stretch into a smile, and just hovers her lips a bare millimetre from Rachel's, until Rachel parts her lips and kisses her back.

Quinn can hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears, and reaches a hand up to trace down the side of Rachel's face, over the curve of her ear and then down her neck to her shoulder. Rachel sighs against her lips, and Quinn nudges forward, capturing Rachel's bottom lip with her teeth and then sucking, gently.

Rachel actually moans slightly at that, moans, and Quinn's aware that this is nowhere near enough, (possibly nothing will ever be enough, from now on) because she's got her head craned right around to be able to maintain the kiss, and the rest of her is still flat against the floor. She wants to be pressed against Rachel, she wants contact from head to toe, just to know, just to prove that she's brave enough for this, brave enough for Rachel.

The leverage is impossible though, all she wants to do is twist herself around so they're both on their sides, but her legs haven't got the strength (yet) and Quinn's not getting there alone.

Breaking the kiss only to catch Rachel's hand with her own, Quinn murmurs 'pull' against Rachel's lips. Rachel pulls, and Quinn pushes, and she's there, rolling up onto her side, and Rachel follows suit, and this is all she ever needed, Rachel in her arms, kissing her back.

It's pretty much perfect.

Quinn realizes that everything is pretty much perfect.


	15. Epilogue

**I guess... I wasn't quite done. But now I am. But I just thought Brittany deserved a bit of recognition for her selfless work in this story. Only a small one, and this IS the end.**

* * *

><p>This is an epilogue.<p>

Brittany's not going to tell Quinn and Rachel, obviously, that their first evening out together is an epilogue, because they probably think it is the start, but Brittany knows better.

The hard work was in the getting together. This bit (all the making out and pretending to be not holding hands under the table) is the easy stuff.

Breadstix is the only restaurant in Lima that she has been in. She isn't even sure if breadsticks are supposed to look like the ones in Breadstix do, but she snaps one in half and puts an end in her mouth anyway.

'Apparently, in France, breadsticks are massive and one is supposed to last a day. They probably feel like Gulliver if they come visit here.'

Rachel is staring at her a bit funny, but Brittany keeps having to remind herself that Rachel isn't as in tune with her as Santana and Quinn, due to lack of exposure.

(Brittany knows she's a bit odd to some people. But, whatever, those people are usually boring people. She doesn't want to be boring.)

(She likes Rachel though. Hopefully Rachel will figure her out eventually.)

(Maybe she should speak slower, and louder, like Mr Shue does when he's saying something to her in that other language.)

'Gulliver, Rachel. He woke up and he was a giant. Like a French person would feel if they were given one of these breadsticks.'

Quinn raises both eyebrows at her from across the booth.

'Why are you using your Spanish voice, Brittany?'

Santana reaches across her to steal the pepper from Rachel's unresisting hand, and applies liberally.

'Because she thinks Rachel might not get what she is talking about.'

It's a bit annoying when Santana answers for her, and she pokes her with the breadstick, before turning back to Quinn.

'Well, Rachel hasn't been around the three of us very often. I operate on a different plane of thinking, Miss Pillsbury said. I don't want Rachel to get turbulence, and like, vomit. Totally not cool on a first date.'

Rachel clears her throat really loudly at this point, and glances once at Quinn.

'This... isn't our first, umm, date, it's just our first outing with you guys.'

What? Brittany frowns at her.

'You are aware that me and Santana have sex together? We're dating, so this is a date for us. And you guys are definitely thinking about having sex with each other even if you aren't actually doing it yet, ergo this is a date for you too.'

Rachel's gone a bit pink, but Brittany's going to get them past this weird phase if it kills her.

'Oh shush guys, you've been making out for weeks now. Like seriously, you're dating. People don't make out unless they want to have sexy-times too, so just say you're dating and stop playing awkward, it hurts my head.'

Santana lays a hand on her shoulder.

'Ummm, B, you might want to stop using your loud Spanish voice now?'

Oh.

Quinn looks like she's deciding whether to walk out or pass out, but then Rachel does this magic trick where she reaches over and strokes once at the base of Quinn's neck, and suddenly she's fine again.

'Thank you for your concern Brittany, it is very sweet. But I meant that we have already been on a 'first date' scenario. This is just us catching up with you guys. And saying thank you for your help during the events of the last few months.'

This is...news. Brittany puts her knife and fork down carefully.

'So wait. Everything is settled now? We don't need to play around with the secrets anymore?'

Quinn smiles at her a bit, and then looks at Rachel, before laughing.

'No, Brittany. Everyone now knows everything.'

This is it, this is the moment when Brittany gets to purge herself of secrets.

'Oh, okay, yay! I've been waiting for forever. I'm just going to say them all, and then I can stop concentrating on keeping secrets. Like, Rachel, Quinn has totally been obsessed with you for years, but didn't figure it out until recently. And also, Santana wasn't off fighting crime that time, I just needed to come visit Quinn with you so I could see what your body was saying. And I totally left Quinn there in her wheelchair on purpose so you could go save her, I'm not a moron. And Quinn, Rachel first realized she was in love with you when she started having sex by herself while thinking about you, back when she was planning a wedding. And everybody knew you guys were hot for each other, we just didn't want to say. It was really awkward there, for a while.'

Brittany sits back, relieved, and prongs a meatball with her fork. Pressure off.

After a couple of moments, Brittany realizes that Santana is doing that weird shaky thing when she is laughing without making any noise.

'What?'

Quinn and Rachel have gone varying shades of puce, and Brittany squints at the pepper shaker suspiciously.

'Seriously, what?'

* * *

><p>Brittany drops them both off at Rachel's house after the meal, and she feels bad, because Quinn and Rachel had spent the remainder of the meal incapable of looking at each other without blushing, stuttering, or dropping their cutlery.<p>

Santana reaches over from the passenger seat, and holds a hand up for a high five, which Brittany meets after a moment of confusion.

'Okay, high fives are good, but that was bad San. They were all happy go lucky and then I told them all their secrets, and then awkwardness returned, so bad that I almost couldn't finish my dessert.'

Santana presses her lips together, and then flips the sun visor down to check her reflection by the street lights.

'B, your body language skills are firing blanks right now. That was 'good' awkward. That was 'I can't actually look at you right now because I'm thinking about getting into your pants' awkward. You just can't spot it because you have never experienced being awkward, ever.'

Oh. Oh, well, that could be possible, she guesses.

* * *

><p>Due to her lack of experience in the field of being awkward, Brittany tells Santana that sex would be totally appropriate and acceptable this evening, and Santana seems to approve of the suggestion, and they lose a couple of hours rolling around on Brittany's double bed.<p>

Afterwards, as Santana's shrugging on one of Brittany's gym tops, Brittany shuffles across to her cell, slides and taps once.

'Quinn has messaged me.'

'Yeah?' Santana seems to hesitate between pants and no pants, before stepping into a pair of sweatpants she's found in Brittany's cupboard. 'I'm getting a drink, if you want something? What does she say?'

'Umm, hang on..._Brittany, I can't decide if I hate you or love you. Rachel says thanks. Don't let Santana read this message._ Oh, wait...'

Santana snorts loud, and then full on guffaws for a bit, while Brittany tries to figure out what the hell is going on.

'Oh, B... prepare yourself to be bombarded with messages from Rachel about how the logistics of lesbian sex translate to the bases, I'm betting.'

Brittany stares at her blankly for a moment, before comprehension dawns.

'Oh, oh! Oh yay! Awesome. Well done me. High-fives all round.'

Santana grins like a fool, and disappears through Brittany's door for the kitchen after a moment, leaving Brittany with her thoughts.

Success. Brittany checks her phone to see if she has any messages from Rachel yet. Nothing.

Maybe they'll get her a bunch of flowers to say thanks. Or name their first child after her. Or _allow _Brittany to name their first child, which would be definitely worth it and certainly require serious consideration.

Brittany reaches for her phone, all ready to ask Quinn whether, when they get married, it'll be Berry-Fabray or Fabray-Berry, because that'll have a significant impact on possible baby names, before she decides that might be a bit much, at this point.

But still. Complete success. All down to her. Brittany lies back, and rests her head in her hands.

She feels like celebrating.

Aaaand... her parents are out.

'San? Clothes off baby!'


End file.
